


We're Ghosts, Bound to Splintered Pyrography

by Grimalkin, HappiKatt



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: ... eventually anyways, ADHD Eodwulf, Ableism, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, An extra helping of that team as family stuff as we are weak, Art, Author Original Interpretations of Astrid and Eodwulf, Autistic Astrid, Autistic Caleb Widogast, Buckle Up buddy, Emetophobia, Extreme speculation, Gen, Gratuitous use of the Caleb Widogast is a Psuedonym Theory, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Breakdown, Mental Institutions, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possibly the most self indulgent thing I've ever written?, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Speculation, Suicidal Thoughts, Team as Family, Trent Ikithon is a Bastard, like oh boy quite a lot of ableism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2019-10-06 20:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 80,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17352320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimalkin/pseuds/Grimalkin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappiKatt/pseuds/HappiKatt
Summary: Before The Mighty Nein, there was The Blumenthal Drei.Caleb had hoped the two would never collide, but the world was never that kind. Not to Him, not to Eodwulf, not to Astrid, and especially not to the Mighty Nein.---..."Trent,” Eodwulf growled through his teeth “Let’s fucking kill him. Make-- Make him regret ever being fucking born, for… for everything he did to us. Everything. Pay himbackfor everything hetookfrom us.”...





	1. Danse Macabre

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: A Note from Grimalkin:  
> Okay. So. Given the revelations of episode 48 and everything that comes with it; we're gonna be Declaring this a little less "Vaguely AU" and a little more "Full AU". Katt and I have been planning this particular story out since about early fuckin' September. Back then it was a little more "Man It'd be cool if..." But we've put a lot of work into this, and we're not gonna let the admitedly awesome canon events stop us now. Eodwulf and Astrid were always going to be different from canon anyways since this is highly speculative and as I write this note they have no characterization, so now we're just... suping it up a bit. That being said, this story will be, with a few cheeky twists and slight interpretation here and there, canon compliant up until the m9 leave the Menagire Coast in episode 48, at which point they opted to go to Kamordah first instead of Felderwin. Naturally, we'll try to incorperate as much as we are able beyond that point that is revealed to us but... well, such is the fate of speculative fiction for a fandom with ongoing canon!

Caleb’s chest felt like it was full of ash and sparks by the time they had found a place they had exhaustedly deemed suitable to camp, and he could taste cold iron buzzing in the back of his mouth. The sun had just set on the horizon, the world painted that blue-grey color of fading light as everyone shuffled into a shaky halt to their mad dash. Caleb tried to say that it might be a good idea to keep going, but the words were having trouble getting out of his throat for the moment, and before he knew it, Jester had already sat down to start casting _Prayer of Healing_ on them all.

Caleb was going to wait until she was done to suggest that as soon as she was finished they should start moving again, but the moment he sat down on the ground, it was like all the panicked energy that had accumulated in his body was sucked out by the ground beneath him.

He felt like a bottle of wine that had just been dropped on the floor, shattering on impact, everything he kept inside the past two hours coming to rush out and pool in a jagged mess all around him.

Appropriate, given how close they were to Kamordah.

The world blurred out just slightly at the edges, his ribs aching in protest to his breath. The clearing they had found stayed quiet except for the small sounds of his teammates existing around him. The low mumble of conversation and Jester’s prayer. Caduceus checking a gash on Fjord’s head. Beau checking in on Yasha even though it was quite obvious she was fine. He did not miss the slight berth they gave him, nor the careful glances in his direction that ate away at his skin, with the sheer weight of the _knowledge_.

The long shadows of the forest clearing pulled at him from every angle. He could feel the spotlight of the universe beating down on his body, singed by the heat of the lamplight to match the fresh electrical burns.

He couldn’t hide anymore.

Astrid had nearly killed all of them. She’d called him _Bren_ , she’d said they trained together-- even something about _faking_ having gone mad. No amulet would ever protect him from this. Not now, and not that it ever did. It was always a placebo. The security blanket of a confused, idiotic man-child who woke up in a body that had aged over a decade in the blink of an eye and a swirl of hazy visions who needed something to cling to to feel safe.

And the magic she’d thrown at them--Astrid had always been so in favor of the empire, even if she often saw rules as somewhat flexible, but he’d never thought she would resort to _necromancy._ Did she have some sort of special permission to--? She’d used some spell he’d never seen her cast before to bring back several guards they’d had to kill in their confused stumbling into the midst some Krynn plot, and used her natural skill at shaping magic to keep her own spells from striking her new minions, and that was all so _new,_ how much further had she changed since he’d seen her last?

She had looked well, though, aside from the increasing fury stitched across his features as their brief, ill-fated conversation had stretched on. It had seemed that life was treating her well. A small, traitorous, sentimental piece of him was happy about that.

There was a small pressure against his arm. He blinked, and looked down at it. A small green hand was curled lightly along the sleeve of his jacket. He followed the hand along it’s arm until he found himself staring into Nott’s wide eyes, face plastered with that sickeningly genuine brand of concern that always made his stomach turn just so. Every damned time she looked at him like that, he marveled at just how many lies and half-truths he must have spilled to make her believe he deserved it.

“Caleb.” Nott said, her fingers squeezing his arm just slightly. “Are-- Are you okay?”

No. He suddenly realized his breathing was labored. He felt dizzy, and the ground swayed beneath him even as he sat.

Caleb nodded, because it was the answer she would prefer. Judging from her look, he must have done a very poor job at being convincing.

It was… extremely unfortunate that Frumpkin had strayed into the crossfire during their battle with Astrid. He had the materials to cast _Find Familiar_ again, but that would take time, and _that_ he absolutely didn’t have. He wasn’t sure he could pull the focus needed to cast it now anyways.

“Do you… ” Nott spoke again, this time in a slightly more hushed tone. Her eyes darted slightly to the side before she spoke again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Caleb shook his head.

“Then you don’t have to.” Nott affirmed, her grip tightening just slightly, “Not until you’re ready, I mean.”

Caleb shook his head again. He’d never be ready for this conversation. He wasn’t ready when he told Nott and Beau, no matter how much the answer pushed and screamed from the back of his throat, begging for confession after five long years of silence. But the world had never cared what he had wanted--what he was prepared for--not since childhood, and especially not now.

He was a _liability_ now.

He couldn’t stay with them anymore, and Gods, that thought shouldn’t send such a sickening tear through his gut, not when he’d known from the start that this was only a temporary alliance of convenience. At some point he’d mixed pleasure and business, and in spite of himself, he’d let these people find purchase in some small, crooked corner he kept inside of his heart. He let the stupid idea get into his head that maybe, just maybe, with these people and borrowed time, he might just find a splinter of happiness, even as he kept them at arm’s length for fear of being burned yet _again_ . He’d known he should have cut his losses and run ages ago, but he gave in, again and again, to that part of him that had always been there who had never been able to let go of _anything._ But now that it was too late, he felt the overwhelming need to scramble to hold everything together, even if that would only bring him and everyone else pain, because Caleb Widogast had never been anything but an appalling, selfish wreck of a man.

But he couldn’t. There were no more half-truths or misleading technicalities he could hide behind anymore, because after half a decade of running, his past had finally hunted him down.

Just then, a gentle wave of warm air passed through him, mending the worst of his cuts, bruises and burnt raw flesh as Jester’s prayer came to an end.

And now there was an immaculate silence, and the full weight of reality laid upon his shoulders. Jester caught his eye and opened her mouth, like she wanted to say something, but instead just pursed her lips a moment later, and looked away, conflicted. Nott’s gaze was firmly pointed at the ground, but her grip on his arm remained. He could sense the others waiting as well, but before he could meet their face, he closed his eyes and bowed his head just slightly, waiting for the body blow. Tried to pretend he was still as he was over a year ago--utterly alone and lost in the woods with the other shadows.

Fjord was the one to break the heavy silence. Always the one to jump in headfirst.

“Caleb, uh,” he said, and Caleb could just imagine him awkwardly palming the back of his neck. “Who… was that?”

A pointless question, really. He’d said her name. Maybe Fjord hadn’t heard. To some of them, it meant something, a collection of preconceptions of all variety of true and untrue, and some Caleb couldn’t say what they were. A once-girlfriend. An old friend. Co-conspirator to patricide. A threat. A new enemy. An ending.

He could run.

A wheezy chuckle pulled itself from his throat at the thought. No, that option was long gone on a number of levels, and he knew it.

He looked back up, opened his eyes, and took in the expressions of his friends. The bold-faced confusion. The cautious uncertainty. The ineffable searching stare. The stung sympathy. The fatal concern. Something entirely unreadable and knowing. Each one strung along a needle that pierced his gut and stitched his stomach into knots.

He clamped his mouth silent with a hand, and shook his head.

“That was Astrid, wasn’t it?” Beau finally spoke, her tone, somehow, not accusatory. Caleb met her eyes for just a moment, but he still couldn’t get a read on her. He looked away, and she waited just a moment before she continued. “You said her name.”

He wiped his hand away from his mouth roughly, and, whisper quiet, started the end.

“ _Ja_.” Caleb said. “I did.”

He could feel Nott look away at his side.

“Astrid?” Fjord echoed, sounding genuinely mystified. Perhaps he hadn’t caught him saying her name after all. He had been a bit further away. His focus suddenly switched from Caleb to Beau, giving him the briefest of reprieves. “Beau, do _you_ know who that woman was?”

Caleb readied himself. He did not resent Beauregard for what she was about to do. They had crossed a line, now. His secret could no longer be kept innocuously in the hopes that it wouldn’t pose a danger. If anything, he had already asked quite a lot for her silence, and it had lasted far far longer than he had initially thought it might.

“Not my story to tell.” She said with a twinging, thin smile that probably would have passed muster for apologetic on someone else. Fjord blinked in surprise. Which was.

Something.

Something… he didn’t know what he felt about. He was already feeling a number of confusing and conflicting things. He just threw that on the ongoing pile he had burning at the moment.

“But Caleb,” Beau said, “I think that now might be a good time to tell it.”

Caleb wasn’t sure if she was trying to be punishing or kind. Possibly both. Possibly neither. But in spite of that, he found himself nodding.

“You are right.” He admitted, his voice still reedy.

A number of looks was shared among his friends who didn’t know. Only Caduceus’ eyes stayed locked on Caleb, his expression ponderous.

“L-look, it’s been a _long_ day.” Nott said, her words seeming to come out in a rush. “We fought guards, and then zombie guards, and then we all got a electrocuted, and then we ran for like an hour! While still a little electrocuted! Why don’t we wait until--until...”

Caleb raised a hand and she settled down, and she gave him a wide eyed look filled with so much panic and anguish for his sake he felt slightly ill.

“This has been a long time coming.” He said quietly. “Best to tear off the bandage in one go, you know.”

Nott studied the ground.

“Mr. Caleb, If I may,” Caduceus spoke up, taking a step forward, his expression gone from ponderous to one of nearly unsettling clarity, and just a tinge of soft pity, “This story you’re talking about, well, I’m not really sure what it’s about exactly, but I can figure that it’s something important to you. I’ve found that the important conversations are better had when people aren’t as rattled as I’m sure all of us are feeling right now. Why don’t I see if I can’t fix us all up something to calm our nerves first, warm us back up, and then we can listen to your story?”

There was a mumble of agreement among the group. Caleb found himself nodding along.

“Besides,” Caduceus continued, smiling softly “Bandages shouldn’t be ‘torn’ off anything. They’ve gotta be removed one strip at a time, or else you’ll put unneeded pressure on the wound. Though I can see the temptation.”

Caleb didn’t quite know what to make of that, so he didn’t comment.

The others were quick to rustle together a quick and messy campground. They had left the majority of their supplies at a tavern, now by Caleb’s count a good ten or so miles away from them, at Beau’s insistence to not go back to Kamordah. Perhaps that was lucky. If Astrid was in the area, that is likely where she would be searching first for them. This way they were much less likely to run into her at the random tavern they had left the cart in.

Nott stayed by his side while the others worked, offering some grounding when he threatened to fall out of sync with the world.

“You don’t _need_ to tell them.” Nott whispered after a few minutes, when she seemed sure everyone else was out of earshot. Caleb saw Caduceus’ ear twitch as she spoke, though he didn’t seem seem to react otherwise. “Not everything at least, if you’re not comfortable.”

Caleb considered it, for a moment. Trying to tell a sanitized version of the events that lead to their encounter with Astrid today going the way it did. Somehow, the way he imagined it, that seemed far more dishonest than just lying, and far more irresponsible than not saying anything at all.

These people, in their time together, had more than earned the truth. They deserved to know who it was they were traveling with. What sort of monster they had put their lives in the hands of countless times. He could use a little more brutal honesty.

“I want to.” He told her simply, because it was easier to swallow than the alternating truth, and she gave his arm a little squeeze.

They assembled a campfire. Unsurprisingly, Caduceus began to set up his teapot, and in short order began seeping some of his special teas. Before he knew it, a warm cup was being pressed into his open hand, steam still wafting from the amber-brown brew. It smelled faintly of honeysuckle.

He would miss this.

The others settled into the places around the fire, as Caduceus handed off the last cup to Beau, who simply raised it to him in lieu of thanks. The mood had shifted slightly, Caleb would admit. The apprehension in the air wasn’t quite so oppressive anymore, instead just a patient feeling of waiting. Every once in a while someone would offer up a fragment of a conversation--a compliment to Caduceus on the tea, a thank you to Yasha for healing Fjord while Caduceus and Jester were too far away, a simple question with a simple answer as they waited for Caleb to gather his thoughts.

As the pale wash of dusk faded into the deep dark blue hue of night, and the stars twinkled back into being overhead, the flickering dance of the fire painted them all in alternations of orange and shadow as it sparked and crackled. Before long, without even realizing it, he had drained his cup of tea, though if he was being honest, he didn’t feel any less rattled.

For a few more seconds, he stared into the empty cup, and came to terms with the fact he had run out of time to stall. He placed the cup down on the ground, and he felt the weight of everyone’s attention fall back on him.

He would truly, truly, miss this.

“The woman that we encountered today is named Astrid Volkmaler.” He started with the obvious and easiest. “We ah… We grew up together.”

Silence. He continued.

“Some of you,” He said, and his voice shook just slightly. “Already know what that means, more or less. Nott. Beauregard.”

Nott shifted uncomfortably at his side. Beau simply nodded once in confirmation. He could sense the shifting of eyes along the campfire--wondering why and what they knew.

“But I will admit that I may have, um, left a detail or two out when I told the two of you, for simplicity’s sake.” Caleb forced himself to stay still, instead of fold himself inward like he oh-so desperately wanted to, the weight of his words immediately piling onto his back as the fell from his mouth. “You all probably heard Astrid call me Bren.”

It was largely a rhetorical question, but he let it hang in the open air, in case anyone wanted to ask before he told.

“Did--” Jester started, her tone careful as could be, like dealing with something impossibly fragile with a gentle lie she didn’t quite believe “Do you think she didn’t recognize you, or…?”

“No.” Caleb shook his head. “Bren is--That is, was, my name. Caleb Widogast is a name I took to calling myself a number of months ago, but I was born Bren Aldric Ermendrud.”

The surprise was universal. Though some more subdued than others, others laced with suspicion, Nott and Beau notably with realization as the why clicked into their heads at nearly the same time, and he saw them lock eyes.

Caleb swallowed thickly, his nerve suddenly faltering. This was it.

“Nott,” he said, his voice crumbling at the edges, as he gave in to some of the cowardice that lurked inside him. As he turned to face her, her expression clouded with concern. “Just as before, _ja_? The same question I asked you before I told you the first time.”

She stared blankly at him for just a moment. But as she connected the dots behind her eyes and the gears all clicked into place, he watched her hesitate for just a moment, before nodding, just once.

A wave of nausea pushed through him, and something in the back of his mind spit a curse on his name. Like a drowning man he’d gladly drag her down into the inky dark once again and somehow she would just _let him_ , and he felt relief uncoil in his gut as she did. He was repulsive.

The others were still staring, still waiting. He took one last deep breath and failed to contain the tremor in his voice as the confession beat down the door of his mouth.

“I am going to tell you all the story of how I murdered my mother and father.”

The looks on their faces as his words sunk in were… indescribably horrible. All the emotions he most expected and worst feared painted in landscape across the faces of the little group he had stupidly started to care so much about. Caleb couldn’t bare to look at their faces for more than just a moment, so he locked his eyes with the glow of the campfire, stared into the flames, and remembered.

“When I was younger…”

* * *

 

 

 _Watching Bren Ermendrud was like staring into the sun on a clear summer’s day._  
  
_With his orange sunset hair, and his faintly freckled skin, and bright blue eyes, and smile. The way his fingers curled just so along the pages of the hand-me-down books he got on loan from anyone who would bend an ear. How far he would wander into the fields before finally sitting down to read when he was all alone (or at least, he thought he was). How he would sit there for hours, senses blind to anything but the book in his lap._  
  
_Eodwulf felt a lot of things about Bren, and none of them quite alike. He held jealousy hand in hand with admiration, tangled together with a bitter longing in his gut and a crushing sadness in his chest._  
  
_He really wanted to be Bren’s friend. Maybe then he could see why Bren succeeded in all the ways Eodwulf failed--to set himself apart from the crowd--but Eodwulf could think of no reason someone as radiant and special as Bren would want to be his friend._  
  
_Eodwulf was quite sure he was nothing special at all. The evidence of this was insurmountable. Gustav was only seven, two years his junior, and he was already better at math. Morgan was articulate and well read--though not as much as Bren--and their father was already bringing him to the market to learn from other merchants about ledger keeping. Andre could draw beautiful, intricate circles around Eodwulf, and his artistic talent at Eodwulf’s age was already far beyond Eodwulf’s reach, much less now. Annie was powerful--naturally more so than Eodwulf, being nearly 8 years older than him, but when she was nine she was already pulling the occasional swordplay lessons out from off-duty guards who could see her potential with the blade. All of his siblings were excellent in their own unique and wonderful ways, but he was just… Eodwulf. Lost in the crowd._  
  
_So, it came as a bit of the shock when the sun looked back at him on that warm summer day, after Eodwulf had made too much noise for even Bren’s singular focus to ignore him, and for the first time, Bren's head snapped up from his book._

  
_“Oh. Hallo!” Bren blinked, and raised his book up just slightly. “Did you want to read it too? It’s in Common, but it’s really good.” He asked with a slight smile, and the warmth of the sun beat down on Eodwulf's face for what felt like the first time ever._

* * *

 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Eodwulf said, half to himself, half to the still-corked bottles of Thistle Branch Dark Blood wine as it sat oh-so-innocently on the cocktail table before him.

Vintage _827 PD_. People have killed for less.

The Ivy Hammock, which aside from being a horrible tale of lost potential in the fact that none of the rooms actually appeared to have hammocks in them, was not the nicest inn Eodwulf had stayed at. The decor--white marble with an excess of red-purple draperies and golden vine patterns curling into every nook and cranny--was on the nose for a vineyard country inn, the balcony was on the small side for a two bed suite and, yes, the pillows absolutely could have been fluffier. But what they did have was a fine selection of foods, wines, and they sold bottles of some of the more famous Kamordah vintage directly from the front desk.

Buying a bottle of Thistle Branch was was never a question of would he, it was a question of when would he. Honestly, he should get a medal for the self control he'd displayed insofar.

Astrid… might not agree. He figured that waiting until she got back to open them would probably make her a bit more forgiving about his little impulse buy.

His... 500 gold impulse buy. He’s lucky he brought those platinums with him.

Eodwulf was financially comfortable enough that dropping that amount of money didn’t really bother him. But there was this little part of him, the small part of him who was raised in Blumenthal and had never seen more than 100 gold pieces in one place until he was at Soltryce, that whimpered a little at the cost.

But, really, their actual mission was all said and done at this point--they deserved a little reward! Sure, they had to stay a few more days to finish up some of the official nonsense they’d been here for as a cover, but that little cult of dragon-mask-wearing yahoos they’d been sent to handle had all either unfortunately scampered off or were in varying states of decay at this point. Eodwulf had investigated the paper trail on whoever was financing the group, and found the man who was funneling money into them--some fresh-to-power, wealthy moron who let it get to his head--snuck in, stole his poorly falsified ledgers, put down an _illusory script_ in their place, and left with him none the wiser. His only regret was that he wouldn't get to see the look on the man’s bumbling face when his entire ledger would turn into blank pages of paper overnight in ten days, but by then they’d be long gone back to Rexentrum.

Before then, though, he’d have to wiggle his way out of this little conversation with Astrid. Technically, he had agreed that he was done drinking on missions--pleasure drinking, at least. Some missions simply required him to drink a bit to keep cover, so she couldn’t exactly get on his case over those.

Hopefully the fact that he had bought them to share would make her more agreeable, and that way she could see for herself that he didn’t buy them to get sauced.

He tapped a finger idly against his lips as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Only Astrid would ever think anyone would buy Thistle Branch to get shitfaced. She just had no appreciation for the finer things in life. At least she could enjoy the cheese board he had gotten from room service--Taleggio was her favorite.

Or, well, she would, if she wasn’t late.

He took another slice off the half-wheel of camembert he still had left, and ate it straight from the serving knife like a man who has long lost control of his life. At this rate, he’d have gone through the entire wheel before she got back and have none left for the Thistle Branch.

He set the serving knife back down and made a silent promise to himself-- no more until Astrid came back. He grabbed the misshapen pile of royal blue fabric he had balled up on the table and haphazardly tossed it to the bed he had claimed, only for it to uncurl midair and flop uselessly to the ground about a foot shy of the bed.

He rolled his eyes, feeling a bone-deep apathy, and made the executive decision to ignore his Assembly Robe for the indefinite future. The thing looked like shit on him anyways.

Something probably came up. Or maybe she caught wind of a new lead to follow--mustn’t be a terribly interesting nor pressing one if that was the case, or she would have found him right away.

But it was giving him more than enough time to stew in his bad decisions. Hopefully she’d see that as punishment enough alone and stow the lecture.

Terribly unlikely, but he could hope.

Or maybe the little errand she’d run had left her in one of her more agreeable moods. Trent wanted her to investigate a possible entrance to the underdark, and if possible, collapse it before they had a repeat of the attack on Felderwin. Sounded like a fairly simple job that would have her either feeling good about her work, or perhaps too tired from blasting a tunnel into smithereens to argue. That happened. Sometimes.

Soft, muffled music carried up from below, where a few B-list bards had been hired to perform for the lounge. Even muffled, he was sure that halfling he saw earlier playing the viol was still off-key. He made a face, slumping in his chair, half wishing that he had brought his own so he could at least passive-aggressively perform in his room to drown out the offending music. Alas.

Eodwulf sighed, throwing his head back to rest along the back of the lounge chair, the base of his ponytail digging uncomfortably into the base of his skull and letting his eyes slip shut. His fingers idly tracing somatic gestures in the air with no power behind them. _Minor illusion, Mage hand, Minor illusion, Mage hand, Minor Illusion..._

“C’mon Astrid,” He groaned, sitting back up and cutting yet another slice from the camembert, “You’re supposed to be the one giving _me_ shit for being late.”

He paused, looking at the slice of cheese on the serving knife as he brought it to his mouth. He slowly grabbed one of the little toasted bread slices from the cheese plate to spread the cheese on. Technically, that was different from just eating the cheese on it’s own, so it didn’t count, he decided.

The door clicked open.

“Pelor’s balls, finally.” He groused around a mouthful of soft cheese. “Did you forget the room number or something? I’ve been waiting for _hours_ , really.”

He grabbed one of the bottles of Thistle Branch from the table by the neck, a guilty sort of smile finding its way to his face. He heard her approach as he fondly regarded the label on the bottle. “Now, before you say anything, I haven’t even opened them yet, and, Astrid, c’mon, it’s Thistle Branch Dark Blood _827 vintage_!”

“Eodwulf.” Astrid said, but he held up a hand.

“Now, I know, I know what you’re going to say, and yeah, I promised that I wouldn’t do anymore _fun_ drinking during missions-- _but technically_ our mission was that cult nonsense, and the political shit is just a cover mission, so we’re kind of basically done here. Besides, I’m hardly going to be drinking--”

“Eodwulf--”

“ _And_ I ordered a cheese platter to go with it!” He set down the bottle of wine and picked up the cheese platter to present to her, “It even has Taleggio, which I’ve heard is just excellent with--”

He stopped short, taking a good look at her face for the first time, and realized the air in the room had cracked into life with the tang of ozone--probably ever since she had entered the room. Her eyes were just a bit wide, and her mouth parted just barely like it did when she was struggling to find her words. There was a smudge of ash across her brow, and her blonde hair was frizzled and sticking out in places like it might on a dry summer’s day. He glanced down and realized her clothes were slightly singed. One of the sleeves of her robes was stained plum with blood.

She’d gotten into a fight.

“What happened?” He asked, feeling suddenly tense, and a bit grateful he had the good judgement to not start drinking without her. “Are you okay?”

Her mouth opened just a bit wider, as she continued to stare at him, wide eyed for just a moment longer, before blinking and shaking her head, looking lost and messy. He felt tension coil in his gut.

“I saw Bren.” She said, and brought the world to a lurching halt.

The tension in his body broke, everything suddenly going slack. The cheese platter slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor with a dull, hollow sounding clatter as an old, half buried icy void was excavated in his chest.

It should almost seem like a joke. If it were _anyone_ else, he’d think it was a joke. But Astrid never joked about Bren. They had barely talked about Bren for the past few years, and when they did it was never anything less than somber--though sometimes nostalgic and fond--and never, _ever_ would she ever joke about something so cruel.

Just his name could sting sometimes, even after all these years. It brought to mind so many things for the both of them. Scraped knees leaning over the most basic of magical training books. Tiny tongues of fire sprouting from a child’s fingertips to the sound of gasps and pearls of laughter. A brilliant young man in apprentice robes, just the smallest bit frightening and enviable in his ease with training both magical and practical. The cries of someone breaking down out in confused, heartbreaking agony as embers rained down around them in the Zemni Fields, and the unintelligible shell of a man that was left behind. All the memories, wrapped in brambles and dragged carelessly out of the dark, raking across their hearts as each one came to mind.

A painfully undignified noise was strangled from his throat in an attempt to form words. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry as a bone, and painfully unwieldy, and tried to speak again. What came out was no more dignified in how painfully pathetic it sounded, but at least it was a word.

“Wh... What?” he asked, his voice quivering as his stomach twisted and his chest tightened and squeezed with sickening alternation of hope and dread. “You--you _saw_ him?”

Astrid took a deep breath, as if bracing herself to say something, but after a moment of dead air, her mouth clamped shut, teeth grinding, and she simply nodded.

Eodwulf made another choking noise, and then all but launched himself out of the lounge chair and onto his feet.

“Where--how--what did--when--” A hundred questions all tried to scramble out of his throat at once and he rushed up to meet Astrid, who took a careful half step backwards and raised a hand to bring Eodwulf to a screeching halt just a few feet away, his arms gesticulating helplessly in the air in front of him in lieu of contact, and all of his questions crashing into each other, and forcing him to choose just one to pull from the wreckage.

“Is he okay?” He asked, which was a woefully inadequate question in so many ways.

Astrid opened her mouth to speak again, but once again, no noise came out. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, only to open again moments later a few times.

“ _Astrid,_ _Is he okay?_ ” He repeated in Zemnian. The frustration on her face cleared, but only slightly.

She snorted, shaking her head. " _That's a fucking question, alright,_ " she spat back in Zemnian, tension coiling tighter as she started to pace. " _I don't know_ . _It's. He's--I don't_ **_know_ ** _,_ " she said, " _It's_ **_bad_ ** _and I--fuck!_ "

“ _Okay, ah,_ ” Eodwulf winced, his chest tightening. Pacing was never a good sign with Astrid, especially when she was having trouble getting her words across. “ _Okay is--Is he safe? Or is he lucid or still…?_ ”

“ _No, he--”_ She shook her head, and then lifted a hand to tug just lightly at a loose lock of hair and pulled her arms close to her chest as possible. “ _Wulf he’s--just_ **_look_ ** _!_ ” she sighed roughly in frustration once, gesturing at her robes, where the burn marks and the blood stains.

The cold feeling in his chest spread like frost along a window pane into his gut.

“ _I--”_ Eodwulf shook his head, swallowing the heavy sensation in his throat, “ _were the two of you attacked, was he taken? Astrid please tell me just what--”_

 _“He fucking attacked me Eodwulf!”_ she snapped, her voice jumping up to a shout and her arm lashing out in rebuke.

Eodwulf blinked, and slowly, his hands fell slack to his sides. Astrid’s eyes were shining and he could feel something cold reaching up his throat as the gears in his head slipped out of sync, catching on each other as they tried and failed to process what she just said.

“ _No,_ ” He said, shaking his head just slightly, straightening. “ _No, no, Astrid, no, Bren would never--_ ”

“ _What-- What the fuck would you call this then?”_ She pointed at the smear of soot along her face, which upon closer inspection had red, raw skin just underneath it. “ _Or this, or these or any of these shitty burns on my shitty robe--”_ she pointed at various burn marks along the sleeves and one particular one near her midsection that had been nearly burned through _“if it wasn’t enchanted it would be a hell lot_ **_fucking_ ** _more than singed.”_

 _“There must be…_ ” Eodwulf started to say, but then glanced away, trying to crush the surge of overprotectiveness in his chest, _“Astrid, you know he’s not well, he might not have recognized you..._ ”

Astrid scoffed venomously. _“He called me Astrid! Gods, he tried to weasel his fucking way out-- out of--_ ”

 _“You must have misunderstood--”_ Eodwulf said, shaking his head, and raised his hands up to her just slightly.

 _“Misunder--!”_ Astrid made a cut-off, choking sort of noise in the back of her throat, and glared at him, eyes wide. _“He’s a--he’s--I found him just…_ **_standing_ ** _there around half a dozen crownsguard corpses, and some dead crick, with a bunch of his new fucking friends--who shot at me!_ ” She flicked a hand towards her blood stained sleeve, which he now realized was not even dried, but instead still wet with blood. “ _What’s there to not get? If he hadn’t gotten away he’d be under--”_

 _“You let him_ **_get away_ ** _?!_ ” Eodwulf said, his voice straining just slightly as he took a step closer.

“ _I was outnumbered, he--“_ Astrid tensed, but stood her ground, fisting balling at her side and her lip curled halfway into a snarl. “ _He, he put up a wall of fire between us and then everything went dark and… It was seven on fucking one Eodwulf, did you_ **_want_ ** _me to--”_

 _“No! No, I…”_ Eodwulf started to say but his voice died out in a grunt and he ran a hand roughly through his hair, looking down at the ground, his head pounding and swirling.

This couldn’t be happening. Something had to be wrong here. Astrid had to have misunderstood, Bren would--the Bren  _he_ remembered would never do something like that without a reason, there _had_ to be some sort of explanation.

He glanced back up at Astrid, who was still tensed like a wound coil ready to spring, the air around her feeling like it was charged with static and her face screwed up uncomfortably. Her clothing was singed and her hair in unnatural tangles. He glanced back at the ground where a few drops of blood from her injured arm had fallen.

He wasn’t exactly being fair. He sighed, and took a step back out of her space.

“ _I’m sorry, I…”_ He started to say, but the words died somewhere in his throat, and he rubbed his hand roughly down his face. _“You’re hurt. I’m… “_ His hands padded at his pockets, turning up empty. “ _I think I have a healing elixir leftover from yesterday that’s still good for a while longer_ , _let me just…_ ”

Numbly, he stumbled away from her and bent down to grab his his robe, fumbling with the fabric until his fingers found the smooth surface of the vial in an interior pocket. He gave it a slight shake and the red liquid inside glimmered slightly.

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. He could feel something sharp and diseased and awful blooming in his lungs, pushing out the room for air like weeds pushing out flowers in a garden.

He glanced back at Astrid, who had returned to her pacing vigil, looking somehow even more ruffled than she did when she first walked in.

 _“Here.”_ He said, holding the vial out to her. _“I didn’t prep the spell this morning, so this is all I’ve got. Probably only good for another few minutes, so drink up.”_

She nodded, snatching the vial from his hand, and slugging it down. _“... Thanks._ ” She mumbled, as the raw skin on her face slowly started to fade.

He threw his robe over his shoulder, and folded his arms, backing off for just a moment to lean up against the end of the bed he had claimed for his own. He had already pushed pretty hard when it was clear Astrid was already struggling to find the words--she probably needed a minute to think. That was fine, though--so did he, frankly.

He tried to focus on his breathing and anything _but_ the subject of Bren, which was a stupendous failure. No matter what mental path he tried to lead himself along, they all looped back to memories of him. Happier memories like casting their first cantrips together in the Zemni fields,  studying together at the academy, or training under Trent, and worse memories, like visits to the asylum and the faraway look in his eyes, uncaring, unknowing, and constantly terrified.

Killing _crownsguard_ ? Bren would never--no, he always respected the them, and he certainly wasn’t in a state where he could actually kill a trained member of the crownsguard. It had been years now, sure, but… No. Out of the question. Bren would _never_ risk the empire like that, especially not now with the cricks trying to beat down their door.

He didn’t doubt what Astrid saw; she’d always been the most perceptive between the three of them, but that didn’t mean what she saw was the full situation. Bren wouldn’t kill crownsguard-- unless he was either out of his mind, had an extremely good reason, or someone else was forcing his hand.

Each option made him feel a different, brand new, but all utterly intolerable type of sick to his stomach. He pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut. He needed to know more.

 _“Where did you see him?”_ He asked with a sigh, dragging his hand roughly down his face.

_“Mission.”_

_“Your_ **_mission_ ** _?”_ He asked with a grimace. “ _He was in an underdark cave?_ ”

He could barely make out a nod as she continued her pacing, her eyes distant as she crossed an arm over her chest and brought the other to her mouth to bite at her thumbnail. He scoffed.

“ _So, what, are we supposed to believe he’s been fucking around in the underdark this entire time or something? Oh, Trent will just adore that one. Maybe he_ _defected to the Krynn?”_ He laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

Astrid, however, stopped in place and fixed him with a look, her lips pursed like she was holding her tongue over something that neither of them wanted to hear. Eodwulf balked.

 _“Astrid, no.”_ He said warningly.

Astrid opened her mouth to speak, only to take in a breath and close it again. Her eyes never left his.

“ _Astrid!_ ”

 _“Eodwulf he’s a--”_ She flinched, shaking her head. _“He’s dangerous!”_

 _“Astrid that’s absolutely ridiculous, Bren couldn’t possibly hope to do that in his state, he’s not well, and even if he_ **_did_ ** _\--”_

_“Would you--”_

_“Which he didn’t, he isn’t at fault because he’s--”_

Astrid interrupted him with a wordless snarl, and rushed up into his space, grabbing ahold of his arm roughly by his sleeve.

 _“Eodwulf, it’s been five, fuck, nearly six years?”_ Astrid snapped between grit teeth, _“He killed one of Ikithon’s men when he ran, he attacked me, he’s thrown his lot in with a bunch of fucking_ **_traitors_ ** _! We’ve--any one of--it’s taken way less for us to, to act when dealing with others! How much more do we fucking need?”_

Eodwulf sucked in a harsh breath of air, only for it to sigh back out silently as if someone had reached a hand into his chest and crushed his lungs until they crumpled and withered, because she was _right_. And one look at her wrought expression told him that she hated it too. As the room grew colder at the thought, and the air filled with the buzz of static leaving him feeling unsteady, he looked away, slumping just slightly.

Bren should never… _could_ never be on the opposite side of the two of them. That’s not how any of this was supposed to be. That’s not why they agreed to take Trent’s private lessons. It felt like a deep, fundamental wrong of the universe--the possibility that he might be staring Bren down on a mission one day--it was like watching the sun sinking back down over the horizon at dawn.

“ _Eodwulf_ .” Astrid said, and her grip on his arm slackened into an apologetic hand on his arm, sliding down towards his hand but ne ver quite making it there, and he realized her eyes were shining, just a bit. _"I loved him too, Eodwulf, you know that, but he's a--he's too dangerous, and if he--when he--the next time he crosses our paths, we need to be ready to take him out."_

Eodwulf blinked at her, feeling suddenly unsteady as the void that had crawled out of his chest seemed to leech into his limbs and left him feeling numb all over. He swallowed the thick, confused words on his tongue, and ducked his head down.

“ _Yeah._ ” He mumbled, pulling his arm just out of her reach. _“You’re right._ ”

She gave him an odd look. Wiith a slight heave of his body, he stood straight, walking away from the bed. Astrid moved aside as he marched straight towards the door like a sleepwalker, pulling his robe from his shoulder, and painfully, deliberately, pulling it on.

 _“Eodwulf?”_ He heard her ask from behind him, but he ignored her, continuing his death march to the door until his hand rested gently on the handle. “ _Wulf where are you--”_

 _“I’ll be back.”_ He said simply, easily, schooling his words to sound neutral, like he was just going to pop down to the market to grab some food . _“In a few days, maybe. I just… need to do a little thinking.”_

_“... Please don’t do anything stupid.”_

He plastered his best, easiest smile on his face as he turned back to face her, with just the right amount of crinkling along the eyes. _“When have I ever done anything stupid?”_

She just gave him a look that cut through his words like lightning through the sky, but stayed silent.

He turned back to the door, opened it, and walked away.

* * *

 

He needed to find Bren.

That was the one thought that tugged Eodwulf along the darkening streets of Kamordah as the twilight settled in and the the streetlamps began to light up.

A part of Eodwulf hated to leave Astrid alone like that; but he desperately needed to think, and he’d always been a better thinker while he was on the move. He walked about the thinning crowd of the day; A near even mix of Halflings and Humans in this area, spare the odd elf or dwarf, all dressed in finery as they settled into either home, or tavern or inn for the night. The people gave him a small breath of berth.

There was a slight bonus to his awful Cerberus Assembly robes: People left him well enough alone when he wore them and put on a scowl.

It also kept certain unsavory types in line. Only an idiot pickpocketed a wizard recognized by the assembly.

Focus, Eodwulf. Bren.

Astrid had given him a fair few useful clues about Bren. First, she had seen him at the site of her mission--she’d pointed it out to him earlier in the week when they were moving outside of the city; a fairly obvious cave hewn into the first foothills of the bulk of the Cyrios mountains, just about a mile west from Kamordah’s city limits. He’d have to start there. A part of him itched to head there immediately, but he suppressed it, instead taking a sharp turn down a thin alleyway and away from the main crowd of people, where he continued to walk along the path less traveled.

Second: Bren was with people. Six people to be exact, plus Bren made seven. Not a large group, but not a particularly small one either.

Lastly, whatever little group had Bren in their possession likely didn’t know if they were being pursued; based on what Astrid had said, he’d bet anything they cast a darkness spell on her and then ran before she saw them make their escape. And if they were smart, which he could at least vouch was the case for Bren, they would have to assume that they were still being pursued.

With a group of seven, they’d only have a few options.

The first one was the underdark. Mildly suicidal. Bren would never run from Astrid towards the underdark in his right mind, but Eodwulf wasn’t sure about that. No matter what Astrid said, no matter how lucid he might have _seemed_ , Eodwulf didn’t believe it. Him calling Astrid by her name was hardly an insurmountable piece of evidence to his sanity, especially not when he was attacking Astrid.

The second was Kamordah itself; hoping to be lost in the crowd. But if Astrid was correct in saying this group who had Bren had killed a half-dozen crownsguard, it would be similarly suicidal to go to the city. If Astrid hadn’t already reported the incident with the crownsguard, she would certainly have to soon, so that they could get some more men to hold the possible infiltration point until Astrid can get another look at it.

The third was to push further into the Cyrios mountains, which, while they could be certain Astrid would be unable to pursue, was unlikely without the necessary equipment or magic needed to safely traverse the mountains and all of their perils.

The fourth, and final, was to head south, into the beginning patches of wood that marked the loosest edges of the Cyrengreen forest that hugged along the border of the Cyrios mountains. It was the path of least resistance, for sure. Far easier to scramble a fleeing party into the direction of the nearby woods and get lost in the thicket than it would be to organize impromptu mountaineering or underdark delving.

He stopped. He had wandered through enough alleyways to be considered well outside of the _nicer_ part of the city, where everyone had prying eyes and too much time on their hands. Now was the time he could make his move. He had a scene of a scuffle and a likely direction. He’d worked with less before and came out on top, and that was just for work.

This was personal.

He gripped his arcane focus--a silver ring, inlaid with a deep purple gemstone, and started to mutter a few arcane words, only for them to catch in his throat and tumble to a halt.

Bren was so excited when he learned about this spell from Trent. He went on and on about the possibilities for days whenever they had spare time. Stealth, combat, turning a problem into nothing. He couldn’t _wait_ to be strong enough to cast it.

Eodwulf shook his head. He could be nostalgic later.

With a flick of his wrist and a few arcane words, he cast _Polymorph_ on himself, and felt his whole body shift and twist, until he had taken the form of a giant eagle, and took to the sky.

In his new form, the world widened, his eyes growing sharp as his talons, but his thoughts narrowed. Everything became very simple--though not as much so as it could with other beasts. He just needed to get to the cave Astrid had pointed out, before night fell and his sharp eyes failed him.

Soaring high, feeling the wind catch under his wings, he set off, high above the ground, scanning the city and fields below, just in case he saw any large groups that could be the ones Bren was with, but along the way, he saw no such things.

By the time he spotted the cave, he still had just enough light to spare a quick look around the perimeter for any signs of anything unusual, but nothing caught his eyes. So he descended towards the mouth of the cave, and just before he fluttered to a halt just above the ground, released this spell, and fell the last foot back to the ground back in human form.

He briefly considered starting by going into the cave, but… no, there was nothing there he needed or wanted to see. If Bren had gone into the underdark he would need to change his approach. Eodwulf was many things, but a survivalist was not one of them.

He tried, briefly, to check for any signs of a fleeing party. Footprints leading away from the cave in the dirt perhaps, but there was nothing he could say for certain. Really, everything just looked like compacted dirt, with the occasional indent that might have been a footprint; but hell if he knew.

This was where _polymorph_ got a bit tricky.

The eagle was one thing. Eagles were fairly intelligent animals; he could still do basic reasoning while in their form, understand speech as well, but the animal he needed for this was… not quite so bright. He would need a clear directive in his mind as he cast the spell, or else he was liable to not know what to do and waste the spell slot.

“Follow the freshest, largest collection of scents.” He muttered to himself, trying to impress the directive into his mind. “Stop if you see or hear any humans, and avoid being seen.”

He repeated his directive a few more times aloud before he felt satisfied, and cast _Polymorph_ once again, and the world drained of color and his formed crumpled down, and world of _smell_ erupted into his senses as he took the form of a bloodhound.

He could smell several things.

The stench of rot was coming from the dark cave. It was bad and he didn’t like it. He needed to find more smells.

He caught the trail of one smell. It was fresh but it was only one smell the lead away from the cave. Not what he needed. He kept looking.

Then he found a new smell. It was sour, painful, and dusty, but it mingled together with other smells. Salt, and blood, and wheat, and must, and metal. It lead down into the forest, and he knew that was the path he needed to follow, and so, nose to the ground, treading carefully, he did.

He followed, and followed, and followed, nearly losing trace of the scent more than once, but from how they all tangled together he could always trust one to lead back to the others. The forest grew darker, ever so slightly, but he barely noticed.

Treading the brush took a long time because he had to be quiet, but he didn’t want to lose the scent. He didn’t know how much time had passed by the time the sting of smoke assaulted his nose, and his ears perked up at the sound of quiet murmuring. Human voices. He stopped.

He could still smell the scent coming from the direction of the voices, even under the smoke. It was strong here.

Eodwulf dropped his concentration on the spell, and the world darkened, the scent faded, and the voices slipped from his ears. Instead he was met with only the sound of his own heart hammering in his chest, and the quiet sounds of the forest around him.

He strained his eyes and craned his neck, but the best he could make out was the dull glow of a campfire reflecting on some trees in the distance. He waved his fingers and muttered a few quiet arcane words, and cast _Invisibility_ on himself, before he made his slow, methodical approach.

Creeping along the wood, careful to try his best to avoid stamping among the thickets, he crept a careful path towards the glow of the campfire. This had to be Bren. He had to be here. The little group that was keeping him much have set up camp for the night here, finally satisfied that they weren’t being followed or that they had shaken their trail enough that they couldn’t be found.

As he grew closer, he started to see the silhouettes of several figures along the campfire, huddled together, some of them quite large at that. He could make out a few features of some of them, skin of blue and green, a shock of hair that looked almost… pink. But from what he could see only five of them sat along the campfire and none of them especially looked like Bren. For a moment, defeat started to sprout in his chest, until from the corner of his eye, he saw two more figures, half obscured by shadow that he couldn’t really make out.

So, seven in total then. Hope was quick to uproot the defeat that had tried to bloom in his chest. He let out a careful sigh of relief, and casting one last look at the main group of strangers before quietly circling back off to the other two.

The other two were a bit closer to the edge of the clearing. One was sitting down on a rock while the other stood beside them, a smaller race, but as he crept closer and closer, he realized that it, too, had olive green skin, along with huge ears and bulging yellow eyes. A Goblin.

The other one was harder to get a good look at, as their back was to to the campfire. They were holding their head in their hands, hunched over, their features lost to shadow.

He longed to move closer to try to get a better look-- to confirm the sinking feeling in his gut as fact or fiction, but he couldn’t get much closer without rustling some bushes and giving himself away. He grit his teeth as he watched, the goblin’s hands gripping onto the final person’s arm and a few quiet words being exchanged, followed by something that looked like a nod of agreement from the person.

The goblin scampered back to the main group, and as it did so, the person--the man--lifted his head to watch it go, and half of his face was illuminated by firelight. Tangled orange hair, dirt  across his face, a scruffy, unkept beard, eyes so blue he could see them even at this distance in the firelight, and a lost, confused look on his face.

Bren.

Fury swirled in his gut. His eyes flicked back to the goblin as it approached the rest of the camp, and Bren returned to his silent, lonely vigil apart from the rest of the group. Eodwulf forced himself to steady his breathing.

Oh, _this_? This, he could work with.


	2. Blindness/Deafness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! I just wanted to thank you all so much for the support that we got for the last chapter! Me and Katt have been planning this particular work for quite a while and it was wonderful seeing all the positive responces from all of you! An extra special thanks to those of you who enjoyed our introduction to our interpretations of Eodwulf and Astrid, we put a lot of thought into them and it's wonderful to see so many people enjoying them!
> 
> Be sure to check out the note we left for the work overall in chapter 1 as it clears up the chronology of this particular AU while me and Katt work out how to deal with the bombs episode 48 dropped haha oh boy.

_Ioun’s Respite, Sanctuary for the Disturbed was… fine._

_It was drab, certainly, especially in the winter. When the nearby trees, a collection of silver birch trees, had lost their leaves to contrast the grey stone of the building, and the grass faded, and the color leached from the world, everything felt just a bit too bleak, especially with some of the better patients shuffling around the halls, lost in a daze. At least during the spring and summer months there was a lovely courtyard some of the patients could hang around in, but with the air freezing as it was, there was little they could do but hide away from the world. A malaise settled in that was hard to shake, but that was true for everything in the winter, wasn’t it? He couldn’t really complain about something that was also present everywhere, could he? The occasional holler and babble of a patient didn’t necessarily improve matters, but..._

_But, Ioun’s Respite was fine. It was close by, all things considered, still a bit of an all day trip for Eodwulf, but it was close enough he could visit on days off, which was enough. He didn’t visit as much as he used to, but… he did. Just. Not every week like he did in the first months._

_It just got a bit too depressing, week after week. Especially after years one, two, and three had passed and…_

_Well, he was still visiting. Eodwulf swallowed, lacing his fingers together and pressing his fists to his forehead. It felt like a mockery of prayer. He hoped it was. The gods have been utterly useless to him._

_If he had one solid criticism of Ioun’s respite, it was that it was named after a goddess. What had she done to help Bren in the past few years? Nothing. Not for lack of prayer on his part, either. He’d partitioned them all at one point or another, but the sky remained silent. There were no miracles for him._

_The gods could rot behind the divine gate for all he cared now._

_“Mr. Dieshafer?” as soft voice grabbed his attention. He glanced up._

_It was Bren’s favored attendee. A small tabaxi woman named Millie, with grey, tabby fur and one damaged ear. Apparently her mother was raised Zemnian, and she knew a few Zemnian lullabies from childhood. She didn’t speak the language, unfortunately, but the lullabies sometimes soothed Bren._

_She had that look on her face. Tabaxi were a bit hard to read in general, but he knew this particular look well. His heart sank._

_“How bad is he?” He asked, no room for bullshit._

_“He’s had… worse days. But he’s been curled up in his room since he woke up. I still haven’t gotten him to eat yet.”_

_Eodwulf could feel vomit in the back of his throat._

_“If you don’t wish to see him,” she started, but Eodwulf stood with a practiced easy smile, with just the right amount of wrinkling around the eyes to set her at ease._

_“Well, I’ve already come all this way,” He sighed slightly, his eyes wandering around the waiting room, looking at the barred off windows, where he could see the light dusting of snow falling from the sky. “Besides, the snow might not last. It’d be much better if I visited until the snow stopped. I don’t mind staying late either, maybe I could help you feed him something? He’s usually put a bit at ease when I’m here after all.”_

_Millie gave him an odd look, “Well, dinner is quite a ways away...”_

_“That’s fine.”_

_“Well, you live in Rexentrum, right? You won’t be able to make it home until well past midnight if you wait that long.”_

_Eodwulf waved her off. “Oh, think nothing of it. I’d be happy to, in fact. I haven’t spent that much time with Bren in… too long.”_

_If Bren was as bad as she said, Eodwulf had no intentions of returning home tonight anyway. There was a tavern a couple of miles up the road. He knew the owner, Shallie, well by this point. He stopped in earlier to rent a room, and put some of the good stuff aside for him._

_That investment was going to payoff in a big way._

_“Well,” Millie said, her ears drooping somewhat, “Alright, but… well, you know how it is.”_

_“Too well.”_

_She frowned, and started walking down the hall, motioning for him to follow. Eodwulf shoved his hands in his pockets, and obliged. Following her along the halls, which simultaneously felt a little bit too cold and a little bit too stuffy, somehow._

_He wished the doors didn’t need to be made of iron. It made him feel like Bren was less of a patient and more of a prisoner. Like this was permanent instead of temporary._

_He knew that… three years and no improvement wasn’t good but… he had to hope. There could always be something._

_Too soon, they reached Bren’s room number. 201._

_“Millie, I,” Edowulf spoke up, his mouth suddenly feeling cold and dry, “... do you mind if I just have a little time alone with him for a while?”_

_Millie blinked at him, her expression softening. “Of course. I’ll be just outside if you need me for anything, and I’ll check back in in about thirty minutes?”_

_“That sounds wonderful, thank you.” He nodded, and she moved out of his way, so he could pull open the cold iron door. Inside, huddled into the corner of his bed, flush to the wall, was Bren._

_His legs were pulled up tight to his body, his arms crossed and his hands gripping tight onto the sleeves of the shirt he was dressed in. He looked pale, and he was shivering, though the room, conversely, felt quite warm. It was like the winter had seeped into him and refused to let go. His eyes were wide, bright, and sightless. Gazing at nothing between his knees. His mouth was pulled into a grim expression, all grit teeth, like he was holding back words in a cage of bone._

_A familiar pain stabbed Eodwulf in the heart. He had been good, for him, when Eodwulf visited last month. He even said Eodwulf’s name when he walked in. But now, there was no indication he even knew Eodwulf was there._

_“Hey Bren,” Eodwulf said, ignoring the thick sensation in his throat, “One of those, huh?”_

_Bren said nothing._

_He took a few steps in, trying to keep his chuckle airy as he closed the door behind him with a soft clank. The room was relatively bare. All there was to the room aside from his bed was a chair, something Eodwulf had requested to make a permanent fixture, which was covered in soft fabric to mute any hard edges, and a nightstand, with a few books on it._

_They were not piled like he remembered piling them._

_“Enjoying a little reading on your own?” He asked to Bren, pulling the chair closer to the bed, for him to sit, smiling sadly at the man who cowered at nothing and everything. “Or at least giving them a little peak?”_

_Bren said nothing._

_Maybe the books were a little cruel. Bren couldn’t read in the state he was in. Bren could do very little nowadays. But he seemed to calm slightly when eodwulf read to him, and sometimes, Eodwulf would place the books in his hands, and he could almost see a slight recognition behind his eyes. Like he was remembering something. Maybe he remembered, if nothing else, the feel of books between his fingers. The joy of turning a page._

_Eodwulf liked to think they helped at any rate. Maybe it made him feel a little bit more like a person, to have a few possessions to call his own. In spite of everything, Bren was usually quite well behaved and compliant with the staff, if largely unresponsive. He was allowed to keep a few things._

_“Or did Astrid stop by without telling me again? Honestly, that woman.” Eodwulf leaned forward with a sigh, “She’ll be the death of me one of these days. It’s like every mission she’s looking for more and more excuses to take some ridiculous risk and nearly get herself killed. You should have seen the latest stunt she pulled, if I told Master Ikithon about it, he would be furious.”_

_Bren made a distressed noise._

_“Oh, no no no, she’s fine! Astrid’s fine! Safe and healthy, even!” Eodwulf’s words came out in a rush. He faked a laugh. “I’m just griping. We got out of the last mission fine and dandy, barely a scratch on us!”_

_Bren made a few more distressed noises, but soon settled down. Eodwulf hung his head and sighed._

_He had no idea what, if anything, he said, got through to Bren. Every once in a blue moon, he could get something of a response from him, usually just a word or so in Zemnian that felt more reflex than answer. But as far as he could tell… his words were often lost on Bren._

_Eodwulf took a deep breath, still looking down, at his hands, where his fingers laced and twisted together. He tried for something more lighthearted_

_“I saw a cat on the side of the road on my way here.” He said softly. “Lazing around on a fencepost, very friendly. I got a pretty good look at it, do you want to see?”_

_Bren said nothing._

_Twisting his hands together, he cast_ Minor Illusion, _projecting an image of the black cat he saw dozing in that little loaf shape that cats loved so. It only had one eye, the other looked as though it had been clawed out by something, another cat perhaps. But with its eyes closed, one could hardly tell. He made the illusion purr-- a little trick of his he learned while still in the Academy, combining the visual and auditory aspects on the cantrip into a singular cast. He glanced back up at Bren, to see if he caught his attention._

_Bren continued to stare forward, with his unseeing wide eyes, still trembling. Eodwulf let the spell drop, and the image of the cat faded away. Bren didn’t even blink. His hands seemed to grip tighter at his arms, and his expression grew just a fraction more distressed._

_Eodwulf’s forced smile dropped._

 

_“Please, come back to me.” He whispered, in lieu of prayer._

_Bren said nothing._

* * *

 

They’d gotten it all wrong.

For one, they had not immediately chased him out of the camp when Caleb finished his story. That was their first and most grievous mistake. Too stunned, he supposed. And like a leech he could not find it in himself to detach from the only source of protection and friendship he had had in half a decade. He’d continue to take, and take, and take from the first people he’d learned to trust and care for in all that time until he was ripped off like he should have been long ago.

After a good minute of stunned silence from the others, he excused himself. He wanted them to have a chance to collect their thoughts. Think calmly and rationally so they would see the danger he posed to them all. Nott followed him with a quick assurance that she wouldn’t let him wander far--as if that meant anything.

His mouth had run out of words. Now he could only wait for his sentence, like the criminal he was. He found a rock, just the right size, to sit on near the edge of the clearing, and naturally, Nott followed.

The wind blew on his back. The world blurred at the edges. The campfire’s light was dimming and the bite of winter nipped at his hands and face. Nott shuffled in close, placing a hand gently on his back.

They were silent for a time. Nott’s large, prying eyes searched him for something that just wasn’t there. A sign, maybe, that her choice to throw her lot in with him wasn’t a mistake, when all he did was take her from the warmth of the world, dragging her down into the cold. Just as he did right now, even when he hardly had the energy to stand, let alone speak or force anyone to do anything. He knew from the onset that she would come to regret traveling with him. Back then, it was more of a feeling, but now it felt like an absolute premonition. He barely knew why she stayed in the first place; beyond a half hearted excuse of convenience.

He’d known that she’d wanted something from him for a long time now, but surely he was not the only one capable of whatever she wanted. The others could help her, they could protect her, give her the love and family she deserved. He could only hope the others wouldn’t let her leave with him when they tore him off the group like the parasite he was.

He wasn’t able to turn her away on his own.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said after a while, he didn’t know how long, really. Time caught up with him. He’d been silent for a good few minutes.“You couldn’t have known Astrid was there.”

Ah. This again. Her ridiculous deflection of blame form him.

He should have assumed. Shouldn’t have let five years of luck give him a sense of comfort. He should have hidden himself better.

He had considered permanently scarring himself somehow before. Not horrifically, but enough to make him not so recognizable. It was something that he could never gather the courage to do. Maybe if he had, Astrid wouldn’t have recognized him, and this whole mess would merely be a problem of him having a breakdown.

His thoughts drifted to his conversation with Beauregard from… hardly a fortnight ago.

He was right, then. When he warned her about that mage in Nicodranas; cautioned her about his situation to no avail. He kept popping his head up like a fucking idiot, and look where it had gotten him. Had they been a bit more unlucky, or if Astrid had shown up just a moment sooner, they would all have been dead. All because, even under all the muck and grime he plastered on himself, he was still inescapably Bren Ermendrud.

He hoped the others did not fault her too much for keeping his dangerous secret for as long as she did. She was young still. She made a mistake. Perhaps this would be a lesson for her. Get too close to fire and it burns indiscriminately, and Caleb Widogast was a man of fire and little else. He hoped that her mistake wasn’t one she would only come to regret as she was sent to the pyre alongside him--he’d predicted that in the same conversation hadn’t he?

He was sure they all had second thoughts about him now. He couldn’t stop the snort of painful laughter that came up from the churning feeling in his gut.

“Caleb…?” Nott asked, shuffling even closer still in spite of everything, and Caleb could only minutely shake his head over and over.

Fjord must be regretting that little pact he made in Deshilla’s lair with him. Had he known the type of man whose hand he was shaking, Caleb believed that even as rash as he could be, Fjord would have never struck such a heavy bargain.  A patricide asking favors of an orphan. He could think of few things less insulting.

Yasha, too must regret saying she was his friend. It was under his supposed ‘leadership’ that Mollymauk had been killed, and she still somehow appeared to bear him no grudge. Truely, he supposed the woman who spoke the language of angels would be intimate with mercy. But now with a full dossier of his crimes laid out so plainly before her, he bet that she wished she had fumbled her blade and slit his throat on that early morning in the swamp all those months ago.

Caduceus had called him important. He believed their meeting fated. He left his home, put his good faith in him on so little other than Caleb’s useless words, and has gone through nothing but suffering ever since. Surely his goddess did not intend for him to be dragged into the flames alongside the man who already at the time had a foot in the fire. For such a perceptive person, Mr. Clay must regret not seeing Caleb was just as colored in soot and ash as the forest that sought to destroy his home.

Jester must be regretting her choice to approach him in that tavern in Trostenwald. Had her desire for friends not gotten the better of her, the tailspin they had initiated by knowing him could have all been avoided. He probably would have never gone to that circus on his own, never fought alongside them, never named them the Mighty Nein, never _ruined_ them all. He didn’t doubt that she similarly regretted every undeserved smile and chuckle she had ever pulled out of him for the sake of it. She had been pulling smiles from a mouth of a man who burned his home down when she herself couldn’t return to a home with a mother who, if imperfectly, loved her dearly.

He didn’t think he would ever be able to forget the way the firelight caught the tears streaming down her cheeks as he told his story. How the laughter had died entirely from her eyes, his only repayment to her for all the joy she’d tried to bring him.

They all must regret having known him now. Because knowing Caleb Widogast was synonymous with knowing regret.

“Caleb,” Nott spoke again, “Do you want me to check in with the others?”

Caleb nodded. A good few minutes had passed. Forty three, his mind supplied. He was sure it wouldn’t take them long to reach such an obvious conclusion. There was no need to belabor it anymore than he already had.

“Alright…” She said slowly, her hand drifting away, “I’ll be _right_ back, just going to see how they’re all… you know.”

He nodded again. She lingered at his side for a moment’s time longer, before she scampered off to where she belonged, leaving him alone.

Hopefully it was the start of a new trend, no matter how much fear it filled him with. It was what he deserved.

The wind changed direction, still just a whisper on the trees, but it brought with it a slight, albeit gentle, chill. It was familiar, for some reason, and it passed over him in a wave, like a ghost along his shoulders, briefly feeling more like a memory than anything.

It reminded him ever so slightly of the way it was on the sea, how sometimes when he was along the bow of the boat the spray of seawater could catch him on the face--but unlike then this came with no accompanying smell of saltwater, no errant droplets kicked up by the hefty bulk of the ship, no sting to his eyes. This was like a thin curtain of untouchable mist, pure, tender, ephemeral, and…

Arcane.

His eyes widened, and he realized, as he stared ahead in the forest, that the glow of the firelight reflected on the trees was being swallowed by shadow from the bottom upward. From behind him, there was a sudden commotion of alarm.

“What the--”

“Caleb!”

“Fuck--! Get--”

Caleb whipped his head around, panic igniting in his chest, and could just barely catch a glimpse of the campfire, with everyone around it, being swallowed up as a myriad of bricks-- No, _cinder blocks_ assembled themselves in a typhoon unbidden into an unnatural, perfect stone box. He watched as Nott tried to dash for the wall as the last cinder block slotted into place and snuffed out the last of the light. He could still hear the others clearly as they started to jump into action when there was a deep, resonant thud, as if something extremely heavy had been just gently placed on the ground, and with it, their voices grew muffled and faded in an instant.

Caleb stumbled to his feet, staring down the uncaring grey stone structure the size of _an entire house_. He racked his brain for something--anything that the circumstances he just saw reminded him of, burning through a hundred, a thousand memories of vague accounts of arcane skill--but nothing came to mind. Uselessly, he noted that as it was conjured it looked vaguely illusory, which reality denied quite plainly between if the fact that no one was moving out of it and he couldn’t even so much as hear them. Naturally, his one small redeeming factor would fail him when he needed it. That was quite typical. His mind shifted gears.

Astrid must have found them. Divide and conquer was always one of Master Ikithon’s favored lessons and one she clearly took to heart, but… something was wrong. Astrid had never been proficient with conjuration nor illusory magic--moreover, if she was capable of this, why did she wait until now to cast it--why not before? And Astrid’s magic didn’t--

He could hear rustling from the wood behind him--like a person had broken out into a full blown sprint.

He tensed himself, his fingers curling into the somatic gestures for _Firebolt_ on instinct as he started to turn around and--

“Bren!”

He froze. He knew that voice. It was just a step out of key with what he remembered, oh so slightly more deep, as the final fragment one-off familiarity crashed into him and pulled all the scattered pieces into focus, and a torrent of memories blazed across his mind. A head on his shoulder. Idle tapping of fingers. Stretched out, patched up hand-me-downs. Giddy laughter and pretty words. Illusions and gentle lies.

And Eodwulf Dieshafer barreled back into his life from the dark, and wrapped his arms around him tight.

Bile pulled itself up form Caleb’s stomach, hot and heavy, as he stumbled back and _shoved_ at the sudden contact, feeling suddenly desperate and dizzy and set alight. The pair broke apart in an untidy near-trip, and Caleb could only stare at the ground for a few seconds to shove the sickening feeling in the back of his throat with a hard gulp. He imagined swallowing molten led was similar.

He granted himself a shaky breath before his eyes flicked up the figure in their periphery, where even in the insubstantial light of the moons, he recognized Eodwulf instantly.

Even with his face half coated in shadow, his eyes just barely glinting in that subtle way they always did when he was concentrating on a spell, Caleb could clearly read his expression as that same, dumbstruck looking one he’d wear when he just realized he had done something wrong. He’d grown out his hair again, Caleb could just barely see it whipping along behind his head in the wind, and apparently he had started to grow a proper beard. He wore what Caleb assumed was the same type of robe as what Astrid wore, though it was difficult to say for sure in the low light. He let out a breathy startled chuckle, and lifted his hands up in plain view, emoting them gently in Caleb’s direction as a soft, startled grin appeared on his face.

“Sorry!” Eodwulf said, just the smallest lilt of nervous laughter to his voice, “No surprise hugs-- Right, right, I’m sorry it’s just been-” He cut himself off glancing up and down at Caleb. “You’re not hurt, right? They didn't hurt you, did they?”

Eodwulf took a step closer again and Caleb nearly tripped again as he stumbled back, wide eyes never once looking away from the other man. He watched hurt flash briefly across Eodwulf’s face, so genuine and sharp, he felt nearly certain it was real. The only thing that kept his senses about him was a hissing voice in the back of his head, reminding him that Eodwulf had always been an excellent actor, and an even better liar, amongst the confused smattering of questions boiling across the surface of his mind.

The flash of hurt quickly melted into an unsteady smile filled to the brim with heartache and pity. It was sickeningly genuine, and in place of words Caleb felt that hot feeling rising up in the back of his throat again. Questions spun around and around in his head like a funnel cloud, as he stared at the impossible man in front of him.

“Bren,” Eodwulf said, his smile twitching with doubt for just a half-second, “It’s me, Eodwulf, I-- Do you recognize me?”

Caleb blinked hard, once.

 _What sort of question is that supposed to be,_ he snapped in his head, but in trying to push the words out his mouth, his throat seized up on the first syllable, his words caught behind the molten sensation of bile at the back of his mouth.

At the same time, another voice in the back of his head reminded him that Eodwulf _must_ have learned about him being here from Astrid. She could be anywhere, lying in wait. His eyes darted around the edges of the clearing, into the inky dark of the forest and trees beyond. Without the aid of the campfire, he could hardly see the trees at the edge of the clearing.

“Well,” Eodwulf muttered, looking just slightly away as Caleb’s eyes fell back on him, “I guess that doesn’t really matter.”

Caleb grit his teeth, words bubbling underneath the surface of his skin, unable to find an out for the million questions that tried to bark out at him.

“What _does_ matter is: you can trust me.” Eodwulf said, his eyes going soft, and he outstretched a hand to him. Caleb’s shoulder jerked away as he scuffled back, trying to create more space. A smile, not brilliant and dazzling, but heartfelt, and in spite of everything _still_ somehow radiating trustworthiness, split through the dark.

  
“Come on, Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

The words the scrambled for any sort of escape quietly, briefly, utterly at a loss for which one needed to be said most. But as it always was, whenever Caleb--Whenever _Bren_ \--found himself short of words, Eodwulf still had so many to spare.

“I know this must be so confusing for you Bren,” He said, in a tone that was so hushed, and placating, and sweet, Caleb felt instantly nauseous. “You’re…I know you’re not _well_ , and these people have been taking advantage of you and--”

Caleb stopped listening, Eodwulf’s words drowned out in a wash of fever-pitch whining as his first slid into his gut like a icy dagger, spreading fear like poison in his veins and leaving him numb. His thoughts crashed to a halt and the world faded into background noise because... _because--_

What if Caleb was wrong?

What if all these years were just the newest extension of his madness? A man pushed from stupor into endlessly cycling down and down deeper into a hole he had created for himself. Madly grasping for unattainable goals like smoke through his fingers, and crafting fiction in his mind to make it sustainable. A delusion. It was a far-off fear that had often crept in through the back door of his mind, on the lonely nights before he had _anything_ but his escape from the asylum and a new, false name. What if he was just _delusional,_ was a question that had haunted Caleb for years.

He’d trusted his perception of reality before. He’d trusted his memory and mind which to him had never done anything to betray him, and he need only look at utter wreckage he had made of himself with it to recognize the fault there. The fact he continued to put faith in what his eyes, ears, and memory told him was near insulting in it’s arrogance. How could a man condemned to an asylum for a decade truly classify himself as anything but delusional?

What if he had never gotten better? What if it was never a false memory? What if it was all just an extended lie he told himself? What if Caleb Widogast was nothing more than Bren Ermendrud’s desperate, shattered escape from the weight of his crimes, like a wild dog that gnawed off its own leg to escape a hunter’s snare? _What if he was just_ _delusional?_

Calebs head spun, dizzy with a sea of burning, inescapable questions that rose and fell like embers and ashes in his mind by the hundreds, but all boiled down to one singular uncertainty he couldn’t trust himself to answer anymore.

What if?

Caleb watched on as Eodwulf continued to speak. His eyes and mouth so filled to bursting with concern so genuine he didn’t doubt that it was real as it poured forth in a flow. Dully, he remembered how easily he could pick apart the biggest lies Eodwulf told, the little twitches and tells and flicks of the eyes Caleb rarely found himself able to meet for long. It had been years, but… But all he could see in his expression now was sincerity. Eodwulf spoke, and acted, and stared straight into Caleb’s face, _convinced_ that Caleb was absolutely delusional.

And what _if?_

Caleb’s eyes were caught back into focus when Eodwulf’s head jerked suddenly, his gaze moving off Caleb and instead just over his shoulder. Caleb followed his gaze to the stone box, huge and implacable in the dark, with one newfound exception.

A strip of light, just barely peeking out of the stone; Blue and pink and faintly glowing, somehow physical.

And a chorus of voices that followed.

“Caleb!”

“Caleb are you there?!”

“ _Holy shit,_ Jess--”

“Caleb, we’re coming!”

“How in the world--” Eodwulf spoke up again over the clamor, and Caleb’s eyes darted back to him as he stared, for just a moment, but enough that Caleb was sure Eodwulf was seeing just what he had seen. Eodwulf was real, he’d made that abundantly clear when he damn near knocked him off his feet before, and he long predated when Caleb’s faith in his memory ended.

If Eodwulf was real, and he was reacting to the others… then so were they. And so was everything else. It wasn’t much, but he’d worked with less. He could make it work.

Eodwulf’s eyes found their way back to Caleb as the clamor behind him grew louder, and for an instant, Caleb could swear he saw a twinkle of fear behind them.

“Bren, I can’t keep this up forever, please, just take my hand.” Eodwulf asserted, choking his fear back into whatever corner it had crawled out of.

The words were back to banging at the back of his throat, now certain but unable to force themselves out. In their place, Caleb shook his head, frantic but certain.

“Wha--Bren, Please! We don’t have _time_ for this!”

Caleb took another step back. Even still, the words would not come.

“Bren, listen--” Eodwulf said, his eyes widening just a bit more as desperation started to show through the cracks

Caleb scowled. Eodwulf telling _him_ to listen? How fucking _dare he?_

“--you’re _confused_ \--”

Caleb steadied himself where he stood, the endless scramble of words and memories being pushed down into something much more singular. Something much more heated. Behind him, he could hear the sound of stone cracking and tumbling down.

“--and don’t understand what’s going on--”

Caleb felt like he knew more than enough for the moment to reach a conclusion. He grit his teeth in his mouth until his ears started to ring even as his friend’s voices grew louder.

“--Just… Bren-- _Schatz_ , please just listen--”

The tension that had been building inside him slackened... _Schatz_ . _Schatz please just listen?_

...And promptly returned tenfold. His hands tightened into fists at his side and he lurched forward, and, swinging from the shoulder, all the weight he carried thrown into his fist until it slammed into the side of Eodwulf’s face with a satisfying, meaty _crack_.

 _“Don’t fucking ‘Schatz’ me!_ ” Caleb snarled over the sound of skidding dirt underfoot, and the pain shooting up his arm where he felt his knuckles bruise and crack.

“You _always_ do this!” Caleb continued to shout, taking a step forward and gaining ground, “You always _did_ this! You never fucking listen to me when it actually _matters_. You just avoid what you don’t like, and ignore me, and close your ears and shut your eyes like the problem is just going to go away in a puff of smoke!”

Eodwulf gaped at him, a hand moving up to touch lightly at his face where Caleb had punched. The glint of magic in his eyes flickered and sputtered. Behind him he could hear even more sounds of bricks crumbling, but the shouting had died down.

“You’re… you’re talking,” Eodwulf said, stupidly. Caleb rolled his eyes.

“ _Ja_. Are you finally listening?”

“Hold on, wait,” Caleb heard Caduceus speak up, just barely, from behind him over the sound of approaching footsteps. “I don’t think… Oh.”

He could hear the sound of bickering starting to form at his back as the footsteps grew closer, yet slowed down until a near halt.

“‘Somewhere safe’? What is that supposed to mean?” Caleb asked, and the glint in Eodwulf’s eyes faded completely, his eyelids fluttering as he continued to gape at Caleb.  “Eodwulf, that was not _rhetorical_ , answer me.”

He could hear a soft gasp from behind him.

“I…” Eodwulf’s eyes turned just over Caleb’s shoulder, Where Caleb could still hear his friend’s idly by, and his expression hardened, and his posture straightened. “Bren, hold on, let me handle this.” He took a step forward, trying to move past Caleb.

“No.” Caleb stepped in front of Eodwulf, blocking his path and holding his hand up to halt the other man. “You are listening to me.”

Eodwulf visibly grit his teeth, still not meeting his eyes. He tried to move around Caleb once more, but Caleb stepped between him and the rest of the Mighty Nein yet again.“Bren, I’m trying to help you.”

“Then you will listen to me _for once_!”

Eodwulf’s eyes fell to the ground, appearing chastised for just a moment. But his eyes hardened once more, the magic flickering back to life in the subtlest of ways, before casting a quick glance in Caleb’s direction.

 _“Bren, please hold still, I’m trying to help_ .” He said, switching to Zemnian, and his hands twisting into somatic shapes as arcane words started to echo form his mouth. Caleb immediately recognized the spell: _Hold Person_.

With just a quick wave of his fingers through the air, like pantomiming plucking a cord from the air and tossing it aside, with his last 3rd level spell slot, Caleb cast _Counterspell_. A snarl of hot arcane energy, shot through the small space between them, all but smacking the magic from Eodwulf’s hands as it spun and his spell shattered into fragments in a momentary whirl of magic and wind formed harmlessly between them. With his other hand, he pushed a rough shove into Eodwulf’s shoulder.

“What sort of fucking help is that? ” Caleb shouted again, his mind abuzz with fresh heat and his gut twisting in anger. “Huh? Ha!?! _Was zur hölle?_ ”

Eodwulf stumbled back his eyes wild at the edges. “ _Scha--!”_

 _“Do_ **_not_ ** _call me that.”_ Caleb continued to shout in Zemnian _“What did I just say?”_

 _“Bren, please, just calm down.”_ Eodwulf said, his eyes going back and forth between Caleb and the his friend who stood behind him just a few feet away. _“I know this must be scary but there’s no need to shout, I can--”_

 _“I have every reason to shout at you after this stunt! Not after you--”_ Caleb cut himself off, the words shaking and tumbling in his throat all vying for a chance to leap out at strike at Eodwulf, yet somehow they didn’t get lost along the way. Caleb shook his head. When he next spoke, his words were in Common. “No, you know what? You do not get to patronize me and turn this into a private conversation after the spectacle you’ve made of yourself here. I am not having this conversation in Zemnian.” He threw a hand vaguely in the direction of the Mighty Nein behind him. “They get to hear this, too.”

 _“Bren,_ **_listen_ ** _\--”_

“Eodwulf, I am _not_ having this conversation in Zemnian--”

“ _You can’t trust them--!”_

 _“_ Who the fuck am I going to trust then? You?”

_“Yes!”_

“Absolutely not.”

Eodwulf made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat that was so _painfully_ like him that Caleb had to crush a swell of nostalgia. His eyes still would not meet Caleb’s, and for once, Caleb overwhelmingly wished they would, if only so that he would be _forced_ to realize he was not dealing with a complete madman. But they didn’t. They did what Eodwulf always did: avoid looking at whatever it was he didn’t want to see. Instead, like chips of ice, they focused on his friends just past him.

“What did you do to him?” Eodwulf hissed, his expression frigid and stormy like a cloud about to break, and his eyes locked just past Caleb’s shoulder.

Caleb took the opportunity to cast a quick glance back to his friends, where they all stood, no more than 15 feet away, weapons… not quite ready, but not quite away, brandished somewhere in between. He watched them all tense suddenly at Eodwulf’s address. An array of emotions, confusion, discomfort, suspicion, and pity had been stretched across their faces and bodies in varying amounts. Dimly, Caleb noted that there was no sign of the stone structure Eodwulf had made, only the dim glow and distant crackle of the campfire.

Caleb felt a strange wave of confused warmth surge up from inside him as he looked across their faces. He shoved it down as he turned back to Eodwulf.

“Bren isn’t well,” Eodwulf continued, leaning forward as if he wanted to take another step towards them, “How _dare_ all of you take advantage of someone who needs help like he does?”

“I am standing _right here_ , Eodwulf.” Caleb snapped. Eodwulf’s eye twitched in his direction, but he continued to ignore him.

“Don’t any of you have any fucking shame? You see a man who desperately needs help and you try to twist him to your sick aims? To turn him into a traitor!?”

“Eodwulf, _enough.”_

“Bren doesn’t even know what day it is, let alone where he is or what he’s doing, how could you take him away from where he _belongs--_ ”

“ _Eodwulf!”_ Caleb barked, and _finally_ Eodwulf turned to face him, and their eyes locked. Caleb narrowed his eyes. “It is the 17th of Horisal, and it is eight forty-nine and thirteen seconds at night. We are on the northern outskirts of the Cyrengreen forests, Southwest of Kamordah, and Northwest of Deastock. I know _exactly_ where and when we are, and--and it is precisely where I should be.”

Eodwulf’s expression cracked. His eyes furrowed together and his mouth grew small, like a confused, lost child, before it all smoothed over into something shaky and filled with so much pity it wound up looking pitiful itself. Caleb watched Eodwulf swallow a flash of fear and uncertainty, just as he always did when they were kids. He looked like a man who had his world pulled out from under him.

“Bren, no you… you don’t belong here.” Eodwulf shook his head, swallowing once more. “You… you belong at Ioun’s Respite with--”

“The asylum?” Caleb muttered, feeling a pit form in his gut that his stomach fell through in an instant. “You want to take me to--is that your _‘somewhere safe’_ ? You wanted to throw me into an asylum without even so much as _trying_ to determine if I was sane?”

“... You… you weren’t talking.”

Caleb took in a deep, haggard breath until his chest burned from the sheer amount of air filling his lungs, his shoulders tense and shaking with ever-growing anger. He was at an utter loss at the man before him, how someone he once trusted so much could be so callous that he did not even give thought to listen to him after sixteen years of absence. He pulled the burning sensation into his mouth, fully expecting a shout to spew forth like an eruption of smoke and flame, but instead only a brittle, pained voice, trembling with anger and hurt came out:

“You of all people should know words have not always come easily to me.” His fingernails dug into the palms of his hands until he felt warmth there. “You are not throwing me back in an asylum when I am here, lucid and speaking to you, Eodwulf Dieshafer. Do you hear me?”

Eodwulf’s eyes darted away. The pain in Caleb’s chest failed to recede.

“Do you _hear me_?” He repeated.

Eodwulf looked away entirely, his eyes hardening back on the faces of his friends.

“Is... is one of you making him say this, because I swear if you’re controlling him, I will find a fate much worse than--”

“No one is making me say anything, Eodwulf.” Caleb interrupted firmly, and Eodwulf’s words withered in this mouth. “Not that that seems to matter, since you’re _still_ not listening to me.”

A profound silence settled in the air, and for the first time, something resembling a delicate half-peace descended on the clearing, leaving only the whisper of the wind in the woods, the crackling of the campfire, and the sound of Caleb’s own heartbeat in his ears. Eodwulf still would not look at him again; still desperate to hide in whatever fantasy he had concocted taking place here. Eodwulf always been one to try and cover up things he didn't want to see with his pretty lies, but now it seemed he'd gotten so good at the act that he could even fool himself.

“Then why?” Eodwulf finally said, shaking his head. “If you’re not still...The Bren I remember would never do anything to bring harm to the empire. Why are you with these--these _people_ instead of with us? Did they trick…? Why did you…?”

Eodwulf made a soft sound, a cross between a laugh, a scoff and a sigh. His eyes searched the ground for answers, still unable to meet Caleb’s face. Increasingly, Caleb was starting to realize that in spite of everything, Eodwulf had barely changed at all from the boy he remembered. He could use a little more brutal honesty.

“Trent Ikithon,” Caleb said finally, for far from the first time tonight. “He… He tricked us.”

Eodwulf blinked. “Trent… Bren, what...”

“Our parents were not revolutionaries, Eodwulf.” He continued, his mind drifting back to memories of raining ash. “Did you not once think it strange all of our parents--all six of them-- just so happened to be planning treason on the same night? On the one night their children were visiting, after being away for so long? That all of us got up from our beds that night, for one reason or another, only to stumble in on their talks against the empire?”

Eodwulf’s silence spoke volumes. Caleb swallowed. “Trent put those memories in our heads, Eodwulf. They were not real.”

“What? Bren, no, that’s…” A strange expression overcame Eodwulf’s face for just a moment, and for an instant, Caleb thought that maybe, just maybe, Eodwulf had heard him-- had _listened_ , before he halfway covered it with a hand, shaking his head in disbelief. “Bren that’s insane, Trent would never--Trent would never cast that on us.”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “Then let one of our clerics cast _Remove Curse_ on you.”

“What? No!” Eodwulf took a half step back.

“Why not?” Caleb hissed. “If you’re so sure Master Ikithon would never ‘cast that’ on us, then I’m sure such a test would dispel any of _my_ insane fantasies.”

“What’s that supposed to-- I am not letting one of _them_ cast _anything_ on me!”

“Fine, then have someone else do it, or keep your head in the fucking sand then.” Caleb spat, slowly starting to turn away.

“Bren, don’t be absurd--” Eodwulf tried to say as he stepped forward, placing a hand on Caleb shoulder, but Caleb cut him off as he spun around, and smacked the offending hand away.

“If you will not even entertain the _notion_ of checking to see that I am not stark raving mad--to _verify_ that I belong in _an asylum_ \--” Caleb grit his teeth, feeling the anger coming to a quick boil once more in his gut, only for it to recede just as fast as he saw the confused, messy panic on Eodwulf’s face, and a strange guilt settled in its place. His voice dropped into a whisper. “Then why the fuck are you still here?”

Eodwulf’s wide eyes slowly clouded over, and his gaze slowly dropped back down to the ground, and his hand the Caleb had smacked away. He stared at it in silence, as Caleb watched.

“You…” He said eventually, his voice suddenly sounding tired and hollow. “Do you really see the empire as your enemy?”

Caleb glanced down. That was… complicated. He would not call the empire his enemy, it was his home. He had no desire to see the empire itself harmed, nor did he have any particular aspirations for revolution himself. His goals were far broader. He thought of the people behind him. In spite of everything--in spite of what they now knew of him, they were still at his back, for the time being, anyway. If he had to choose between the man in front of him, and everything he represented, and the people who stood at his back, for however brief a time that remained, his answer was clear.

“The empire has not cared about me in many years, Eodwulf.” Caleb said, because any other answer felt like too much. “I do not see how we could still be allies.”

Eodwulf let out a single sad laugh, his expression crumbling. Silence overtook the moment, as even the wind died down, and the usual ambient noise of the night seemed to grow far away. The campfire was beginning to dwindle.

"It’s because I stopped visiting, isn't it?" Eodwulf asked after a few moments of silence, his voice watery and desperate around the edges, like drowning. "This. You're upset that I--I'm sorry Bren, It was just _so hard_ seeing you like that. It wasn't healthy for me to keep doing that, I... I'm sorry, I didn't think about how much it would hurt you too, but, I promise, I'll come visit you; Every week--More if I can!--if we just..."

He extended a hand out to Caleb, shaky and hopeful, and Caleb found no words that would come. He wasn’t even  really sure what Eodwulf was trying to offer, and he didn’t think Eodwulf really knew either. All he could do was stare at the dying breaths of whatever hope Eodwulf had that this was something he could smooth over with kind words and his quiet little lies, like he did when they were kids and their problems were infinitely more small. For a moment his mind is transported back to creaky wooden floorboards and groaning iron bedsprings; quiet meetings at night where one or more of their cheeks were run ruddy with tears as they held each other in their arms, but were never spoken of come morning. Heartbreak oozed out of the anger that filled his chest, like pus from a wound left to fester for a very, very long time.

"I think we both realize," he said slowly, meeting Eodwulf's shining eyes, unflinching, "that that is not the problem at all."

Eodwulf's hand lingered in the air for a moment longer before falling back to his side. It felt like defeat, like the magician had finally run out of illusions, left on the stage unobscured and alone for the first time in a long time.

Caleb looked away, unable to take the sight.

“Just get the fuck out of here, Eodwulf.” He muttered.

He could feel Eodwulf’s eyes on him for a few long, agonizing seconds, before somehow, miraculously, Eodwulf turned around in a daze. He walked to the very edge of the clearing before coming to a sudden stop.

He took one last look back over his shoulder, and Caleb could see the evening mist coil around him, before, in an instant, he disappeared.

Caleb stayed on his feet, swaying just for a moment, before all the tension that had been holding him together, abruptly gave way to an outpouring of soul-deep exhaustion. He slumped down, his legs buckling underneath him, and all the sickness and bile that he’d been forcing down ever since he first saw Astrid came flooding out of his mouth as he fell to his hands and knees.

“Caleb!” Nott shouted and he could hear the sudden stomping of feet rushing over to him. Nott skidded to a halt form the corner of his eye. “Caleb are you alright? He didn’t-- He didn’t hurt you?”

Caleb found he had no more words left to him. He opened his mouth and more sickness spilled out onto the ground until all that was left was a burning sensation in the back of his throat as a sticky feeling bile choked him painfully on the way back up. He instead focused on the shaking, heaving breaths he desperately wanted to keep steady. He shook his head. Nott’s hand fell gently on his arm. He jerked away.

A moment later, Jester appeared on his other side, looking hesitant and afraid. Like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to touch him. It was good, he thought, that she was thinking better of it now that she knew what he was. Instead, she knelt down next to him, her eyes shining and wet--had she been crying again? Why? Caleb didn’t understand.

The three of them sat there for some amount of time. Caleb didn’t keep track. He just kept trying to focus on his breathing, forcing it to stay steady, his head dizzy.

Trent would know all about him soon. Eodwulf learned of him from Astrid, and Trent would learn of him from both of them.

And then… well, he could think of many agonizing ways to die.

“We should… Probably set up camp somewhere else.” Caduceus eventually said, snapping Caleb from his stupor. He glanced back at the firbolg, who was casting a broad glance at Yasha and Fjord beside him. Beau was further back, looking out into the woods.

“Yeah.” Fjord agreed, and Yasha offered a nod. He noticed Caleb staring, and Caleb watched his mouth twitch. “Caleb, uh… Bren…? Are you gonna be good to walk or…?”

“I can help you.” Yasha spoke up, shrugging her shoulder. “You know… If you need it.”

Caleb shook his head, leaning upwards and pushing himself to his feet, stumbling just slightly. He saw Jester and Nott lurch like they were going to catch him, but he steadied himself. A part of him loathed to take advantage of the situation. After the spat he had with Eodwulf, they were probably all feeling too awkward to ask him to leave tonight, but Caleb could hardly turn down the kindness in the state he was in. He was quite sure he couldn’t even cast _Alarm_ , let alone his hut, not in the state he was in.

He didn’t deserve their kindness, but naturally, he would take it anyways. That’s just the type of monster he was.

“Alright,” Fjord sighed, “We should probably get a move on then, ‘s already late. Beau, could you uh...”

“Already on it.” Beau called as she started to douse out the flames of the campfire.

“... Alright then. Let’s get a move on.” Fjord cast one last, strange, difficult to identify look at Caleb before he turned away, moving back towards the campfire where their meager belongings remained.

“Caleb?” Jester finally spoke up from just behind him. “Do you… do you think Eodwulf will do what you asked him to do?”

Caleb’s eyes cast down, and he shook his head. His stomach lurched again, but with nothing left to hack back up.

Eodwulf never listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Ladies and Gentlmen, Eodwulf Dieshafer, professional gay disaster.
> 
> Regretfully I could only really hint at what was going on with the rest of the m9 as this all went down, because it was really tonally jarring but [here's a comic](http://blatherkatt.tumblr.com/post/182119621494/also-we-didnt-include-this-in-writing-because-it) on them reacting to this mess as it unfolds and I assure you it's 100% canon.


	3. Sense Emotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone! For those of you who haven't seen yet, We've updated the work to use Caleb's canonical birthname, since that got revealed and all, and we've only got two chapters of this thing out, so it really wasn't a hastle to change. RIP Felix Bauerbeck, forever in our hearts.
> 
> Also quick warning: Fjord gets a lil ableist in a description of an asylum but in that sort of "This world is pretty uneducated on mental health stuff" way more so than any sort of ill-intent. That out of the way...
> 
> "It is at this point that we must regrettably inform the audience that Eodwulf is a certified Dumbass"  
> -Katt, on the contents of this chapter.

_Eodwulf could be a little… smothering sometimes._

_Bren did not always have trouble with contact. In fact, he quite liked it provided it was invited and expected; it was just the unexpected jolts and pokes and jostles alike that never failed to put him on high alert no matter how small. But when he knew it was coming, and from someone he could trust, Bren could go for hours tangling his space with someone else and not bat an eye._

_But this felt somehow excessive. Too active. Too conscious. It wasn’t the respite of Eodwulf’s arms he was more used to, it was cumbersome and a little crushing, like heavy blankets in summer months._

_It also meant Eodwulf wasn’t studying like he really_ should _be…_

_Eodwulf’s lips ghosted up the length of Bren’s neck, along with a gentle, warm breath of air. It was the second time now in in a minute, so Bren was quite certain it was no accident. He hoped Astrid wasn’t looking. He didn’t want to deal with her whining about them being gross today, he had enough distractions from Eodwulf alongside everything else on his mind as it was._

_He blinked and realized his eyes had just been trailing over the words of the pages without really absorbing them. Contrary to what Astrid and Eodwulf seemed to love to believe about his memory, he couldn’t recall an entire book just by flipping through the pages. He had to actually read the damn thing._

_“Wulf,” he hissed quietly, “Stop it.”_

_“Stop what?” Eodwulf mumbled back, his voice muffled by Bren’s shoulder. He was trying way too hard to be cute, and right now it_ really _wasn’t working._

_Bren squirmed in Eodwulf’s grip, which, thankfully, resulted in Eodwulf’s arms untangling from around him and instead falling limp, one of them resting on Bren’s knee. Eodwulf gave him a slightly confused glance, pulling away just a fraction, as much as he could anyways while Bren was sitting on his lap. He had that slight kicked puppy look about him again. Bren sighed. At least he could count on some things to always stay the same._

_“You_ know _what,” Bren said simply, “I’m trying to study, and so should you.”_

_Eodwulf pulled a face. Not for the first time, he noted that Eodwulf’s face seemed so much less friendly when his hair had been cut away, just another reason to find it distasteful. Having his own hair cut didn’t bother him as much as seeing Eodwulf and Astrid get the same treatment--at least he didn’t have to look at himself with short hair all the time. It was just… too different. A change that he wasn’t fond of._

_Like soldiers, Master Ikithon had said. He could agree with the sentiment, but he could still hate the results. Astrid and Eodwulf looked so much less like themselves nowadays, and Bren feared he’d never get used to the change. He hoped it wouldn’t last beyond graduation._

_“I can study later,” Eodwulf rolled his eyes, smothering his odd look for something a little too casual. “It’s not like we have tests tomorrow or anything.”_

_“You don’t know that.”_

_“We had a test_ today. _” Eodwulf reminded him._

_“A practical test,” Bren said slowly, lifting his book up slightly, “but until Master Ikithon brings more insurrectionists for us to practice more enhanced coercive interrogation techniques on,” He cast a glance at Astrid, who was sitting on the bed, pretending not to listen, “since someone fried the last one,”_

_“Oh--Whatever!” Astrid snapped, suddenly straightening, “I overshot with the Shocking Grasp, okay! I get it! Master Ikithon said we nearly got everything out of him anyways thanks to you and Eodwulf, it’s not like we weren’t going to execute him anyways--”_

_“It’s fine,” Bren interrupted with a heavy sigh, because it wasn’t. Master Ikithon had reprimanded all of them on wasting information, and had reprimanded Bren specifically for not having a better handle on the situation as a whole afterward in his office. Not having a potion on standby when he was supposed to be spearheading the interrogation was, in Master Ikithon’s words, amateurish. Bren couldn’t help but agree. “The point is, we’re almost certainly switching back to magic studies tomorrow.”_

_“We can study later, Schatz,” Eodwulf sighed. His arms wrapped back around Bren, and a low chuckle escaped his throat. “I have been practicing my evocation spells a lot recently, after all. I’m sure Master Ikithon will be satisfied.”_

_“Yes, and that is very good and I am glad you have been,” Bren said, training the strain from his voice, “But it is divination that I am worried about. It has been a while since he tested us on it and--”_

_“Ugh,” Eodwulf groaned, his head lolling back. “Master Ikithon knows it’s all our worst subject, I don’t see why we have to force ourselves…”_

_Bren took a deep breath. “Because it’s a valid area of study and even if we do not progress deep into--”_

_“Deep into it’s arcane technicalities we should all at least have a strung fundamental understanding on how the school works to better identify when and if they are used against us.” Eodwulf interrupted, stealing the words from his mouth in a poor facsimile of Master Ikithon’s voice. He raised an eyebrow expectantly. “I know what Master Ikithon says during his lectures, Bren, I don’t need the refresher on that.”_

_Bren’s mouth clicked shut. Eodwulf’s expression cleared._

_“What?” He asked._

_Silence. Bren decided to break it as soon as possible. He didn’t want to get into this._

_“Why don’t we just study together,” Bren said suddenly, the suggestion actually bringing a bit of lightness to his chest, “even if you don’t have any divination spells prepared we can still go over general formula and theory.”_

_“Why would I prepare divination spells for torture?”_

_“Sense Emotion can be quite useful for interrogation, but that is beside the point.”_

_“Did_ you _prepare it?”_

_“Well… No, but--We’re going on a tangent.” He lifted up his book again, gesturing st Eodwulf with it. “We should just get started on theory.”_

_“I know the theory well enough,” Eodwulf rolled, his eyes again, placing a hand over the pages on the book, and pushing it just slightly down and away. “Besides, you even said yourself that you think divination is the trickiest school to understand._ You! _”_

_Bren granted, “Yes, that is why--”_

_“Really, Bren,” Eodwulf interrupted,_ again. _“If even you’re struggling with it maybe I should just wait until you’ve got it down pat like you always do before you start tutoring me on it.”_

_Was… he being sarcastic with him? No. He wasn’t doing his sarcasm voice. Eodwulf was very particular about that--between Bren and Astrid, sarcasm was a finer aspect of communication often lost on them, so Eodwulf tried to make it extremely clear when he was being sarcastic, but… Bren shook the feeling off. He was just stressed._

_Bren tapped his finger on the table. Eodwulfs hand was still on his book. “We do not have the time for that.” He said simply, “It would be much faster if we just worked on it together like we used to, Astrid can even--”_

_“I still don’t see the point.” Eodwulf groused. “So I might make a fool of myself_ if _trent decides to spring a divination test on us. I’ll be fine.”_

_“It’s not--” Bren bit his tongue before his voice could rise like it wanted to. It wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine that he kept blowing this off. Maybe he’d be a little more willing to let his boyfriend make his own choices here if it wasn’t for the fact that every single time Eodwulf and Astrid fucked up, the problem fell back into his lap, on top of any mistakes he was making. He was supposed to the the lynchpin. The leader. Master Ikithon had told him that was always his design; he had the most level head of the three and took to magic the best of them, so he was the leader. But that also meant he was responsible for everything Astrid and Eodwulf did. Their successes were his successes. Their failures, his as well._

_And Eodwulf didn’t even seem to want to treat it seriously. This was supposed to be for the good of the_ empire. _This was bigger than them._

_Silence. Bren did not rush to fill it._

_Eodwulf’s arm uncoiled from his waist._

_“You know what,” he said, voice far too light, “you’re right.” His hand lifted away from his book and he shifted, like he wanted to get up. Bren felt a bit frozen. “But you’re also just way too distracting.”_

_… What._

_“What?” He asked._

_Eodwulf started to stand, and Bren had no choice but to do the same. He heard the chair skid out from underneath them, wood coraning on wood and driving splinters into his brain._

_“Sorry, You’re right, I should be studying,” Eodwulf repeated, his voice still light and airy and sweet. “But, well, my boyfriend is just, really distracting because well… haha. Obviously you’re not in the mood, so let me just get out of your hair so I can go study in peace.”_

_Bren blinked. He kept his eyes trained on the book, frustration boiling in his gut, but quickly starting to pull back into a light simmer._

_“I’ll be in my room,” He said, in that same lily-of-the-valley-sweet tone, pressing one last kiss to the shell of Bren’s ear. “In case you need me.”_

_“Okay,” Bren agreed, keeping his eyes trained on his book, as he listened to Eodwulf walk away, and close the door just a bit too hard behind him._

_He wasn’t going to study at all. Fuck. Pushed too hard again._

_He was suddenly acutely aware Astrid was in the room. His head snapped to look at her, and she was staring at him with her mouth just barely open, like she wanted to say something. She glanced between him and the door, and she looked at him expectantly._

_“Astrid, don’t,” Bren warned, carefully pulling the chair back in close so it wouldn’t scrape on the floorboards, before sitting back down._

_“Don’t_ what? _” She asked, sounding genuinely mistified._

_“Don’t make a deal out of it, it’s fine.”_

_“That didn’t look fine.”_

_“Astrid, please just drop it,” he said, picking up his book, “We’re stressed enough as it is. Graduation is less than two months away and the trip that Master Ikithon promised us back to Blumenthal at the end of the month isn’t exactly motivating him. If he wants to do this again, then--”_

_“Again?” Astrid pressed, and Bren put his book back down and turned to her._

_“Let’s just give him today, alright?” said Bren with a huff. “Tomorrow we’ll either do divination or not and either way he should be more agreeable after it. He’s been in a bit of a funk ever since Master brought up the trip.”_

_Astrid’s mouth hung open for just a bit longer before she closed it with a click and a sigh._

_“Alright Bren, he’s your boyfriend.” She said, turning back to her book._

_Bren stared at her for a few moments longer, and then finally turned back to his own book. They studied in silence._

* * *

It had been a long time since Eodwulf felt this, and years since he felt it so poignantly.

As he emerged from the other side of his _Dimension Door_ , he was struck by a sense of vertigo and a familiar-yet-hated tangle of sensations. He felt like something had taken root in his lungs, growing like weeds and planting roots, digging into his gut. His face felt flushed, hot, and unpleasantly light, while his fingers felt numb, shivering in the cold.

What had… happened?

The place where Bren had punched him throbbed lightly.

He knew it had been a long time. He had always expected that if Bren ever got better, if he had ever seen him again, he could be a bit different. He had not been prepared for such a complete rejection.

He took a stumbling step forward in the forest. It felt like all the trees had suddenly grown eyes, and were leering down at him from all angles, poking little holes in whatever cracks they could find after the rug had been pulled out from under him for no less than the third time today and he found himself tumbling in freefall.

He replayed the events in his head. Again and again, trying to find the point it all went so wrong.

_Schatz._

Bren had such a strong reaction to that. _Schatz_. A cutesy nickname that had started out as a joke when they had just started dating, just to get under Astrid’s skin a bit, and somehow became something a little more, something a little more real over time.

When did Bren start to resent that?

Eodwulf rubbed a hand over his face roughly, forcing himself to take a deep breath.

Eodwulf knew things were… things were a little tense between all of them, at the end, before Bren went mad. But they were working through it. They had given their apologies to each other for snapping and sniping at one another from the stress. He could look back and say his relationship with Bren wasn’t _perfect_ , no relationship was, but…

The worst of it all, was how _right_ he knew Bren was. Eodwulf didn’t always listen. He definitely didn’t back then, when he had all their training on his plate, but it’s not like he _never_ listened, not like how Bren had said.

Right?

He suddenly wasn’t so sure.

Then there was that… _nonsense_ with Trent. What was that even about? Something about Trent putting the memories of their parent’s treason in their heads, which was just… Absolutely ridiculous, Trent would never do something like that to the very students he worked so hard-- praised so much for their ability to rise above, he…

He wouldn’t cast _Modify Memory_ on them. That was… something he used on those he considered lesser--people who saw too much of something they didn’t need to know. A kindness, if anything. Removing a memory, smoothing it over with something else, was far preferable to death or imprisonment. At its worse, it was a tool, a tool for torture and interrogation and manipulation that could only be played very, very sparingly.

That’s what he had told Eodwulf when he helped teach it to him, nearly a decade past.

Eodwulf shook his head. No. Absolutely not. Trent was a bit of a bastard, everyone was when you got down to it, but he wouldn’t use that on _them_.

And yet…

Bren had seemed _so_ sure. He couldn’t help but trust that face, even if it was spouting… madness. If nothing else, Bren _thought_ that was real.

He’d wanted Eodwulf to let one of those… people he was with cast _Remove Curse_ on him. True enough, if Eodwulf had been under the influence of _Modify Memory_ , such a spell would remove the false memories. Even if it had been cast by someone of Trent’s caliber, the enchantment was long lasting, but not particularly sturdy.

And likewise, if he was to have _Remove_ _Curse_ cast on him, and nothing happened...

Eodwulf closed his eyes, forced down the feeling of the weeds that had sprung up in his lungs and dug into his gut, taking in another deep breath. He forced his mind to quiet down from it’s riotous clamor, and shifted tracks. There were a few places in the area he could think of where there could be someone capable of casting _Remove Curse_ that came to mind. Few of them legal, but perhaps it was best to err on the unofficial side of things, for now, at least.

It was best if Astrid stayed in the dark as to what he was up to for now.

Steeling himself, he glanced around the forest, not entirely sure where he was. He didn’t have much of a destination in mind when he cast _Dimension Door,_ just ‘away’. It would take him a while to get back to Kamordah, and the way things were, he had no mind to sleep on the matter. He needed to set things right _now_.

He owed Bren that much.

* * *

“How’s he holding up?” Beau grunted, shifting slightly to the side as Nott sat back down for watch beside her. Absentmindedly, she hooked a finger under one of the lenses of her goggles and flipped them into her forehead. Darkness filled her vision again, and only the pale light of the moons illuminated their new campground. Her friend’s sleeping forms scattered before her just barely washed a delicate silver.

They’d decided that going for a campfire might have been a bad idea, after everything that happened. Shame it meant she couldn’t see fucking shit without the goggles.

She flipped them back onto her eyes. Had to keep lookout, after all. Make sure that no one else from Caleb’s past tried to get the jump on them. They were already two for three, and given what she’d seen of his _classmates_ , she had to begrudgingly admit that she didn’t like their odds if the great big bastard himself decided to show himself to prove once and for all that bad news comes in threes.

“He’s still sleeping.” Nott sighed, unscrewing her flask, “I think he might have been having a nightmare when I walked over, he looked… really, just awful.”

“Not surprising after the day we’ve had.” Beau muttered. From the corner of her eye she watched Nott take a long swig--no, make that a chug--from her flask and sigh again. Nott brought the flask down again and wiped at her mouth with her sleeve.

Beau gestured vaguely in the direction of Nott’s flask “You mind if I…?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure.”

Nott handed her flask over, and Beau took a swig. The whiskey was still as shit as ever, but it was warming. Beau figured they were lucky it was a fairly warm night for winter, or else this would get shitty fast.

Well… Shittier.

Caleb had… _tried_ to set up his hut a few times, but his usual magic mumbling stuff quickly seemed to fall apart in his mouth just as soon as he tried making sounds and he’d clam up afterward, eyes glassy and distant and frustrated. After a few painful to watch attempts, everyone agreed they would just camp out like they used to.

“We really should ask Pumat about maybe upgrading that thing with something a little less… mleh.” Beau said, handing the Flask back over.

“Yeah I’m kind of sick of it too.”

Silence lapsed between them, leaving the sounds of the forest. One minute. Two minutes. Enough to drive Beau crazy minutes.

“You know,” Beau said, interrupting the silence. “The other day, me and Caleb had a conversation.”

Nott turned slightly to her.

“He told me,” She continued, “That we needed to be more careful. That the people who he was on the run from were like, super dangerous and would kill him in some pretty fuckin’ horrible ways if they ever found him.”

“The lightning was pretty horrible.”

“Yeeeah... But, I dunno.” She shrugged. “I sorta blew him off you know? I figured, well, if someone wanted to come in and fuck him up, then we’d just fuck _them_ up, right? Then like, a week later, I drag us all the way out to fucking Kamordah, cause Fjord all got into my head with some talk about family bullshit, just a quick little ‘hey nothing’s on fire? Nice, cool, see ya.’, and I wind up basically dropping him right into the lap of the people he warned me about.

“And I just keep thinking about-- if I hadn’t wanted to like, double check for no godsdamn reason, we’d never have gotten into this mess. We could have just gone to go check _your_ shit in Felderwin and we wouldn’t have to deal with… all this shit Caleb’s wrapped up in. I guess I can’t help but feel a little bit, at fault, you know? He’d been talking about how we should probably slow down a bit, and I just went in and decided to go full speed ahead and crashed head first into his fucked up past.”

“... I mean yeah, that just about sums it up.” Nott said with a shrug.

“Wow. Thanks.”

“I mean, we did kill that crick, so I guess maybe it’s not a _total_ failure!”

“Mhm. Yeah. Really making me feel great about this Nott, good talk.”

“I mean, you asked me if I minded.” Nott said, tracing the edges of her flask stopper, “And I agreed, so I’m a little at fault too, I guess. Like, ten percent, or something.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.” Beau tilted her head to the side.

“Well fine then, it’s all your fault, I don’t know!” Nott threw her hands up with a huff, her voice growing dangerously loud “It’s not like we knew his stupid fucking classmates were going to be here!”

Caduceus jostled suddenly in his sleep, causing both of them to go silent and still. He mumbled something incoherent for a moment before settling back down to rest. Both girls let out a quiet sigh, some of the tension of the moment diffusing.

“... I just…” Nott spoke down towards her flask, her voice small again. “He looked so _scared_ when he saw her. Terrified. I didn’t think that _that_ was how it would go if he ever saw her again. The shouting, maybe, I sort of expected a little bit of that, but not the lightning or the zombies or…”

She trailed off, but her mouth was still open, like she wanted to say something.

“Or…?” Beau said slowly, gesturing Nott to go on.

“Okay, look, I’m just…!” She made another frustrated noise, almost vibrating in place, shaking her hands and feet like she looked like she wanted to strangle someone, before suddenly going stock still, like she had come to a decision on _who_ to strangle. Nott sighed once, quick and sharp, and she shot an odd look Beau’s way, before bowing her head.

“Okay, so. As long as we’re, well, _confessing_ things about this, I might have… made some assumptions, after he told us about what happened to him.”

Beau perked up. “Oh?”

“I sort of got the impression that… _Astrid_ was the one he was in love with, since he talked about her a bit more. And while we were last in Zadash I sort of thought that maybe, that he might want to see her again. So I asked Jester for some help making letters to that academy to see if there was any way to get in touch with Astrid, and now I guess I wound up sending the letter for the wrong fucking kid.”

Beau blinked. “You wrote her a letter?”

“No. Gods, I’m not a fucking idiot. I wrote the school a fake letter Jester forged for me pretending to be someone official or whatever so I could get a mailing address or something.”

Beau cocked an eyebrow. “So you were just going to give him her mailing address?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really think that far ahead about it. I didn’t really think it was gonna work, honestly, but I figured, worth a shot anyways.” Nott stared down into her flask for a few long seconds, her large ears drooping. “I didn’t even really think about the chance he didn’t want to see her, or, Eodwulf, I guess. But the more I think about it, the more it makes sense he wouldn’t. Caleb’s smart, and he’s had… time. A while at least. If he really wanted to, he definitely would have figured out a way on his own by now, even if he was scared. Caleb always has a reason for the things he does, and maybe they’re not always _right_ , and sometimes he can’t put it in the right words, but he has a _reason_ that makes sense to him.”

Beau let the quiet hang in the air for a bit between them, staring at Nott’s increasingly miserably silhouette. She sighed, leaning forward so she’d be in the periphery of Nott’s vision in spite of the angle. She made it look casual.

“Guess we both kinda didn’t take his opinions on shit into account, huh.” She propped her head up on her hand, as her elbow jabbed into her calf and she contorted down to about as close to Nott-size as she could. “Though like, I’d say I’m a hell of a lot more of a fuck up in that department since he like, actually told me to slow down and stuff and I didn’t listen? Can’t fault yourself too much for not being able to read between every line.”

“I guess.” Nott muttered, her mouth almost directly on top of her flask at this point. Beau pulled a face, grunting. She knew she was pretty not great at this whole ‘comforting’ thing but she figured that might have helped a little.

“Nott--”

“Do you think it’s... _weird_ I just assumed Astrid was the one he was in love with?” Nott asked, suddenly, her head popping back up and a strangely self-conscious expression on her face. “Like, was I just totally off base, or did you get that impression too?”

Beau leaned back a bit, blinking a few times and she re-processed the question because--Ah, fuck it. “Oh, no, yeah, totally thought the same thing.”

“Oh, thank gods.” Nott deflated in visible relief.

Beau squinted. “Yeah, I mean, he just sorta talked about her more?”

“ _Exactly!_ He only said Eodwulf’s name _once_.”

“He talked about how she killed her parents too. Granted, like,” Beau unfolded herself from the uncomfortable position she’d taken, something tight decompressing in her chest “Sometimes I like, forget that sometimes people like, find guys attractive? Like obviously people do, but like, I mean…”

“You mean what?” Nott cocked her head to the side.

“I mean, you saw them.” Beau shrugged, “Comparing the two? Not really sure what Caleb saw in the dude in comparison. That Astrid chick was… pretty hot.”

“You… Beau she--she tried to kill us.”

“I’m just saying.”

Not threw her head back and started guzzling more liquor down.

“What?” Beau lifted her hand incredulously. “I’m not saying I’m gonna like, try and fuckin’ seduce her or anything, but like, objectively. Point is, no, I was in the same boat about the love thing. I think it’s a little weird he didn’t talk about Eodwulf more, honestly.”

Nott’s eyes squinted as she took a few more gulps of liquor, and beau could see little cogs spinning overtime in her head as they were soaked in a liberal application of booze. When she finally put her flack back down, she looked ponderous.

“... You don’t think it was both of them, do you?” She said in a low whisper, “He never really specified that he fell in love with a single person. He just said that he fell in love--he even said it the same way earlier tonight. Said it was a ‘different story.’”

“Nah,” Beau waved her off, “I didn’t get the vibe she was into him like that from the conversation they had earlier. Seen enough ugly confrontations between exes to know what that looks like. Wrong kind of mad, you know?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right… unless it’s like… one of those books he keeps buying, with the little love triangles. He loved her, but Eodwulf loved him, and Astrid loved Eodwulf?”

“Gods I fucking hope not.” Beau scoffed, and folded her arms. “Today was enough bullshit as-is, thanks.”

“Yeah that would be pretty awful.” Nott agreed, and silence rang in the campground once again, the surprisingly gentle chill of midwinter mercifully faint along her arms.

A few more minutes passed in that silence. Nott pulled back a bit on her drinking, her form starting to sway just so when she was on the precipice of tipsy and drunk. Beau kept her eyes trained along the trees and bare brush for most of it, though the only thing that caught her eye was the occasional tremor that worked its way along Caleb’s body, even with the air was dead and the chill of the night barely nipped. Definitely not his best night’s sleep.

Beau couldn't help but think about the story she’d heard for the second time. He told it in such a way, that by Beau’s estimation, it had been damn near word-for-word with what he had told her back in the Pillow Trove. The only major difference was that once he had finished, instead of explaining what that had to do with getting him into a library, he concluded his story by saying that is who Astrid Volkmaler was, and that is who he is.

The difference between the two rubbed Beau the wrong way. The first time he still seemed to want to be in her good graces, but this time… this time it was more like he was expecting, if not looking, for rejection. No reasoning. Not a word on how he wanted to fix it. Just a claim that everything he did all those years gone by made him everything he is, with no room for exception.

“Hey, Nott,” Beau spoke up again, just as their shift was nearing its end. She watched the goblin’s ears twitch just slightly in her direction.“You don’t think Caleb’s gonna try to… run off or anything, do you?”

“... I don’t know.” Nott said, without turning to face her. “And I don’t think he does either.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” said Beau with a nod, and a silent promise to herself to talk about it with Caleb soon.

* * *

 

 

In spite of their circumstances, Caduceus found that sleeping without Caleb’s hut was actually quite nice.

He didn’t have anything against the hut. It did it’s job and served an important purpose of protecting them as they slept so they didn’t have to worry about it. But in the controlled space of the hut Caduceus couldn’t help but feel insulated from the wild around him. It had been a long time since he could just sit among the trees and drink in the whole of the Wildmother’s work, taste the fresh crisp air and listen to the creaking of branches stripped bare of their leaves by winter. It was nice, to take a deep breath of the sharpened air, and have his senses flooded with scent of peat and loam.

“It’s a shame we can’t do this more often,” He commented idly, “It’s refreshing.”

“...Oh, uh, yeah, hm.” Fjord mumbled out.

Even with the dim light of the moon as his only guide, He could tell from the corner of his eye that Fjord wasn’t really listening. Still just staring at the ground probably, with that same stormy, troubled expression on his face he had on earlier.

Fjord had that expression a lot of the time. It was familiar, like a patch of rough water along a river bend, a consistent tribulation of flow, that you could depend on. Not a great thing, but something one just needed to know and work around just a touch, know when to cut through and when to avoid. Ever since Caleb had told the story of his childhood, however, it had lost its consistency, instead of swirling in on itself it was lapping along the riverbank, threatening to overflow.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Caduceus asked. He remembered hearing one of the members of the Ball Eater’s crew having said that to a friend of his who had been having a rough day. He’d been waiting for a chance to say it for himself.

He watched Fjord re-adjust himself as he sat, a sliver of gold flicked away from him as Fjord glanced away, and pulled himself inward. A protective look.

Hm. Well, that wasn’t good. Caduceus leaned forward. “You seem troubled about what happened today.” He clarified.

“That’s a fuckin’ word for it.” Fjord muttered under his breath in more of exhale than words. He lingered on the notion for a few seconds before Fjord drew another breath and spoke again. “Yeah. I guess I’m just… Thinking is all.”

Caduceus thought it looked more like overthinking. But he’d let that slide. Fjord did that a lot, too. A lot of people did.

“About what?”

He could sense Fjord tense up at his side more so than he could see him. Pulling up walls, trying to hide the hurt. That’s just what some people did. Dressing wounds in armor in place of bandages. Fjord was one of those people.

“It was sort of a lot.” He added on, nice and smooth, “I know it gave me plenty to think on, so I’m just wondering if maybe we could figure it out together?”

Fjord relaxed just slightly, but he still wouldn’t look Caduceus’ way.

“Nah, it’s nothing, it’s…” Fjord started to lie, before he bit his tongue and let out a weary, weary sigh. “I’m just having trouble understanding it is all.”

Caduceus could relate. Caduceus didn’t know a lot about the empire, and all the stuff about dissidents and child executioners and tricking them to prove their worth just all felt so… unnecessary. A product of many people over complicating something that should be simple, like self defense and protecting your home, and their efforts twisting up the intent in the process. But Caduceus stayed silent, and allowed Fjord to keep talking.

“I mean you think you know a guy, right?” Fjord said with a scoff, “Then it turns out you didn’t so much as know his name. I thought me and him were finally coming back to an understanding on one another after all the shit we’d gone through but…”

Fjord rubbed the back of his neck self consciously. Caduceus tilted his head slightly.

“Back to?” He prodded.

“Oh uh, yeah.” Fjord chuckled mirthlessly. “Sorta… before you went and joined our little crew, huh? We got ourselves in a bit of a… situation doing some work, and me and him wound up a bit… at odds, you know? Heated moments and stuff. Before then, the two of us got along real well, actually. Hell, I sorta thought maybe I was the one he’d consider himself closest to, ‘side from Nott of course. But ever since then, I can’t get a read on the guy at all. But after all the stuff on the sea, with all the shit you’ve all put up with, and some conversations I had with the guy, I sorta felt like I was back on the rights with him.”

“Then all this shit happens, and…” Fjord’s face fell, and his hands twitched, like they wanted to form into fists, but he thought he thought he shouldn’t. “And now it feels like I’m back to square one. Maybe even worse.”

“And you’re angry.” Caduceus completed, because he’d seen this before. The gentle gnawing along the lip where his tusks would be, just like after they did their last errand out at sea. Frustration and futility.

“I’m not _angry_ . I’m just--” Fjord huffed, placing a hand in front of his mouth in an attempt to stop the words from flowing. Didn’t work that way, unfortunately. His expression hardened “He had a _family_ , Duceus. Parents that loved him. He had a family, and he threw ‘em away for what? Some empire, what don’t give half a shit what happened to him? I just don’t understand. I can’t understand what sorta shit had to have been going through his head to make what he did the _right thing to do_.”

Fjord’s mouth was still open just a crack, his jaw shaking like he had more to say but didn’t feel like he could say it. Pushing back the words. He _was_ angry, but he felt like he couldn’t be.

“I can’t say I understand it all that much either,” Caduceus nodded thoughtfully, “I don’t think I would do something like that to my family. It was pretty gruesome. But, at the same time, I don’t really think I have to.”

Fjord turned to face him for the first time, his eyes wide in the dark, hardly more than little gold rings of light. His expression turned wary.

“How’d you figure?”

“Well,” Caduceus leaned back, glancing up at the moon, idly scratching his chin. “There’s a few reasons, I guess. For one, I’m not sure I’ll ever be really able to figure out what exactly was going on inside his head on that day, not really. The fact that he was working with a set of faulty memories at the time just makes it more complicated. The pressure he was under from his mentor must have been rough, if I understood what he was saying.”

“Well, yeah I mean, of course--” Fjord shook his head. “I know that the guy who was teaching them was a monster. He’s the one who set ‘em out to do it, and tricked them and pushed them with magic until Caleb--Bren, snapped like he said he did. I ain’t saying Caleb didn’t get hurt by all this neither; of course he did, he went to an asylum for fuck’s sake. It’s not… It’s not entirely all on him.”

“I don’t think Mr. Caleb entirely agrees with that idea.”

“Well, he’s wrong about that.” Fjord said with sudden certainty. The protectiveness turned out just a touch. “He got taken advantage of. He was just a kid, or half of one, at least.”

“I didn’t say I agreed with his estimation of wrong there either.” Caduceus let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “I think that’s why I don’t think I need to know what was going through his mind when he did that most of all, though.”

Fjord stared at him expectantly. Caduceus obliged.

“The guilt. When he told us that he had his memories changed, he jumped at the chance to say it didn’t matter, because he still wanted to. He wants to take all the blame. He feels like he has to, I think, because of all the guilt that comes with what he did. He carries it like a weight. I know how he _feels_ about it, and that’s the more important thing if you ask me.”

“Well, yeah, ‘course he feels guilty.” Fjord said slowly, his eyes searching, “But you really think that’s all you need to know? Don’t you wonder _why_ he wanted to?”

“I’ll never know for sure what was going through his head at the time, but he does. He knows how he convinced himself to go through with it, but he doesn’t even let forces beyond his control take any of the guilt away from him.” Caduceus shrugged. “That says a lot, I think. Especially since he wants to fix it.”

“Fix it?” Fjord blinked owlishly. “When’d he say that?”

“I mean, he didn’t, but that’s the impression I got from him. He’s a man with big plans, I’m sure of that much.”

Fjord narrowed his eyes, considering for a moment before he asked: “How’d you think he’s gonna do that?”

“Oh, I have no idea.” Caduceus smiled.

“Oh.”

“But I think he’s moving forward with intentions to repair what he did in some way. I think that’s good enough for now, don’t you?”

“I suppose.” Fjord said, speaking down to the ground in a half-lie. Caduceus was quite sure Fjord was still feeling conflicted about what he’d learned, but at the very least, Caduceus figured he’d give him something to chew on for a while instead of letting his thoughts whip themselves up into a maelstrom about it. This wasn’t something that he could rush. He had his own, finer feelings on the matter he was going to have to do some thinking about later as well.

“Ah, shit,” Fjord declared, rubbing a palm against the back of his neck and shifting, “I’m just groaning about all this when you went and said you had your own shit to figure out. What was your thing?”

“Oh, yeah.” Caduceus sat up a bit more straight, a grin on his face. He’d almost forgotten. “I was just looking for some clarification, actually?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. When Caleb said he broke, he said he spent a number of years in an asylum afterward. Do you know what that was about?”

Fjord gave him a funny look “The asylum?”

“Yeah, that.”

“... Do you… _know_ what an asylum is?”

Caduceus shook his head. “Not really. But I felt like interrupting to ask would be a little rude. I think I sort of got it, but I wanted to be sure.”

“... Oh.” Fjord said, the strange look on his face looking a bit frozen before it sudden cleared as he shook his head. “Uh, well, an Asylum’s a place where people who are a little…” Fjord pointed a finger to his temple and made a circular motion, whistling, “go to get better. Can’t say I know too much about them myself, never really knew anyone who’d been.”

“Huh,” Caduceus said, considering the idea for just a moment, pressing a finger to his lips. That didn’t make much sense. “Do they have healers at an asylum?”

“I mean, it’s like a hospital.” Fjord shrugged “I figure they have to have something.”

“Then why’d a patient heal him instead?”

Fjord opened his mouth to respond, but instead just wound up gaping at Caduceus. For a few long seconds, his mouth hung open, trying to put together a decent explanation. Instead his mouth clicked shut, and he leaned back

“I don’t know.” He said simply, glancing away. Still lost in thought, but thankfully, not quite as tumultuously as he had been.

Caduceus, glad for that, if nothing else. He still had a few more things to think about, but they could wait.

Caduceus looked at the blob of shadow he identified as Caleb’s sleeping form. If nothing else, he was quite certain that his gut instinct about Caleb hadn’t been a wrong one. He took another deep breath, and his lungs were filled with the smell of peat and loam.

* * *

 

Jester was still feeling down well after Caduceus had woken her to trade shifts at watch.

She had hoped when going to sleep that maybe some rest would help her feel a bit better about everything. But when she woke up her eyes were still just a bit sore from tears, and the heaviness in her heart still painfully present. Every time she glanced Caleb’s way it felt like it gained another ounce of weight.

She knew Caleb had been hurt in the past. The man was so scared of love, that was the only way she could think of why. But she had underestimated exactly how deep and cruel that hurt went. She couldn’t even bare to think about it--every time she wondered how much hurt must have been heaped on him so that he could have been convinced he wanted to kill his parents-- that he _still_ convinced he had wanted to kill his parents--when it was doing so that caused him to break? The thought made her blood boil and her eyes feel hot and wet.

How much did you have to bend someone until they broke? She didn’t want to know the answer. She didn’t _need_ to know the answer. The answer was however much that _motherfucker_ Trent Ikithon tried to bend Caleb.

But she didn't know what to do either. She didn’t know how to heal this hurt. It was a wound that had been scarred into place so _long_ ago, though never really healed, that it was now a part of him. She had asked the Traveler for advice, but he hadn’t responded to her yet. She hoped he would soon. Until that time came she felt like there was nothing she could do.

And then there were his friends…

He had said he had dated Astrid. He said she was perfect for him. But it had taken no more than a minute of confused conversation before she tried to kill him. Jester imagined the dead crownsguard didn’t _help,_ but... She had seemed so _angry_. Sure, it had been a long time, but, didn’t she love him? How could she be so quick to hurt him?

And _then_ there was Eodwulf...

“... Oh.” Yasha said, breaking the heavy silence and jolting Jester from her thoughts. “Huh.”

“Yasha? Did you see something?” Jester asked, suddenly alert and ready to jump to her feet.

“Oh, no, I just…” Yasha trailed of, and jester turned just in time to catch the larger woman shifting uncomfortably. “Nothing, forget it. It’s silly.”

“You can tell me.” Jester insisted, scooting just a bit closer. A part of her simply longed to fill the silence they had adopted, lighten the air, and maybe her heart, just a bit. “I like silly things.”

Yasha sighed. “Do you promise not to laugh?”

Jester nodded vigorously. Yasha sighed again.

“Well…” She started slowly, her words like careful first steps into uncharted territory. “I was just thinking about what happened earlier, with that Eodwulf guy, and how he was all…” Yasha waved vaguely in the air in front of her. “Like, _that_. Wishy-washy, you know, compared to that Astrid girl. Didn’t really seem to know what he wanted, like he was confused or something. How Caleb managed to just get him to leave like that, and I realized… He was the one who Caleb was in love with, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Jester said and twisted her laced fingers together, smiling sadly. “Pretty sure he is.”

“... Explains why he left without a fight so quickly.” She sighed. “I think I might feel a little bit bad for him, really.”

“Me too.” Jester slumped, glancing in Caleb’s direction. Another ounce added to her heart. “Though he was also really shitty to Caleb too, kept telling him he was crazy and didn’t listen to him at _all_ when Caleb was trying to tell him to stop, so… not a lot bad. I mostly feel bad for Caleb, since he’s our friend, but like, a little for him too, I guess.”

Yasha nodded. “Yeah, he was a dick.”

“Totally.” Jester agreed, forcing out a small bubble of laughter before a frown forced its way back to her face. “I don’t get it though. You’d think he would be happy that Caleb was okay. I could understand him being mean to us, because I think that he like, maybe thought we were doing something bad to Caleb, but the way he ignored Caleb, it’s like he didn’t even want to listen to him.”

“... Maybe he didn’t.”

“But why would he want to ignore him?” Discomfort bubbled up Jester’s throat, painting her words with anxiety. It wasn’t that unusual for her to be wrong about these kinds of things, but with Yasha agreeing with her... “Doesn’t he still love him?”

“I mean.” Yasha shrugged a shoulder, and winced.  “He works for the empire, doesn’t he? We’re not exactly, uh, Pro-Empire, this group. We did kill those crownsguard. I mean, they thought we were Krynn, but… you know. If Caleb was sane, then, I guess that would mean he would have to do something about Caleb. Kill him, maybe.”

Jester reached to grab her tail and wrung it softly. The whole star-crossed lovers on the opposite side of a war felt a lot less messy, and a lot more romantic in the books. Now, it just felt like it hurt. Maybe she felt a little worse for Eodwulf.

“I wonder how long he was like that.” Yasha mused distractedly.

“Like what?”

“Oh um. At the asylum they mentioned. Insane.” Yasha rubbed a hand against her arm, in an uncertain, self conscious type of gesture. “He was a little vague how long it was.”

Jester’s eyes fell on to the ground. _That_ was a whole level of awful unto its own. “I think it might have been a really long time.”

“Yeah… He said he didn’t really remember much of it, either.” Yasha continued, her tone dropping even lower than usual, into a raspy whisper. “It was horrible enough waking up, not knowing what I had been doing. I think it was like that for him for what must have been years. A lot of them. I can’t imagine what that must have felt like.”

Jester gave yasha a sympathetic look. “What did it feel like?”

Yasha squinted, her eyes going distant for a moment in thought. “Dizzy. It was sort of like when you get woken up while sleeping by something, and you sort of panic just a bit, you know? But it doesn’t go away in a minute or two. It was like that for days.” She shot a glance Jester’s way. “Do you think I should talk to him about it?”

“Oh!” Jester straightened up for the first time in the conversation, something close to light _finally_ fluttering into her chest. “Yasha that’s a great Idea! Let him know that you sorta-kinda get part of what he went through, right? I mean…” Her voice dropped low, “You could also talk to him about Zuala, if you want. You were in love with her too, so you could give him someone to talk to who like, definitely gets it.”

Yasha gave Jester a strange look, before letting out a soft laugh. “Zuala was… _very_ different from Eodwulf, I think. But, that’s not a bad idea. I’ve always thought he and I were… similar, in a way, but I never really knew how to put that with him.”

“Well, now you do.”

Yasha smiled to herself. “I guess I--” She started to say, but she suddenly cut herself off, and her eyes jerked away towards the woods away from them, her hand darting to her her sword’s handle.

Jester leaned over to look in the same direction, but saw nothing. Only the monochrome tangle of bare branches of trees and brush. She stared for a few moments longer, just to be sure, but still saw nothing. “Yasha?”

“I thought I...” Yasha said, wary, her grip tensing, before she stood up in one careful motion, and drew her sword, but did not move beyond that. Her eyes still scanned the forest. Jester shifted forward just a bit, trying to catch any sort of movement. Usually she was pretty sharp, but…

“Yasha what is it?” Jester pressed again, starting to rise, but Yasha held out a hand for her to be still.

“I’m not sure I…” Yasha tilted her head slightly to the side. “... Stay here, I’m going to check a little closer.”

Anxiety gnawed a little hole in Jester’s stomach at the idea. “Don’t go far.” She warned. “And be careful. Scream if you see anything.”

Yasha gave her a single nod, and with slow, careful steps, started to walk away from their makeshift campground, and into the thicket, where she was quickly obscured by the trees, before Jester’s darkvision even cut out.

For a moment, she was alone.

Until an all too familiar voice whispered her name from behind her.

“Jester.”

Her head snapped around, and right behind her, was a hooded figure, dressed in a cloak that covered most of his face. Only a smile left unobscured, gentle and warm. Even if she couldn’t see the color in the dark, she knew for a fact the cloak was a nostalgic green. She inhaled sharply, the light fluttery feeling in her chest bursting into a cloud of renewed hope.

“You came!” She whispered back.

He nodded. “Of course I did. You called.”

A smile tugged unbidden to Jester’s face for the first time today.

“Did--Did you see everything?” She asked him quietly.

He nodded.

“And did you hear everything?” She shifted closer to him.

He nodded again. “It was quite the tale. You have very interesting friends.”

“It’s really sad, isn’t it?” She leaned in close, until she was right up to his halfway obscured face, until she could only just barely make out his sympathetic smile.

“Heartbreaking. He has been through a lot. Had his freedom torn away from him.” The Traveler agreed, and his smile faded. “But that’s what I’m here for, Jester. You wanted to know if there was anything you can do, yes?”

Jester nodded vigorously.

“Well,” His smile came back, but this time, she could tell it was his sad smile, the one he wore when he was giving her bad news, and her heart sank. “Not in the way you might hope. Some wounds are… well, they’re beyond the methods of conventional healing magic. There are other, less conventional ways, but…” He chuckled darkly. “I do not think your friend would appreciate that, and I do not think you would be willing to do that to him. Not that you can do it now, that is.”

“But--!”

“Oh Jester,” he said, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. They were somehow calloused and worn, and baby soft at the same time. “Your desire to mend a wounded heart is something I admire most in you. But, those wounds can only be closed with time.”

Jester bit the inside of her cheek, glancing away. “But he-- He still does that thing with fire! He said that that woman healed him, but he said that she was crazy too? What if she did a really bad job and didn’t heal everything she was supposed to and there was still more to heal?”

“... Well…” The Traveler seemed to consider this for a moment. “If you’re uncertain about the handiwork of that woman, you could always try yourself. Removing curses is something you’re more than capable of, after all.” His smile returned in full, mischievous force. “It couldn’t hurt.”

“R-right!”

“I recommend you try it right away.” he continued. “Once he wakes up of course. Strike while the iron is still hot, right? I think you’ll have the… best chance of finding what you’re looking for if you do that.”

“Okay.” Jester nodded, a sigh pushing past her lips, and her vision going just a bit blurry with tears, which she blinked away.

“Oh, Jester.” the Traveler said, shaking his head fondly, and his hand falling back to his side. “I think your friend is in the best hands he has found himself in in quite a long time with you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” He grinned. “Who better to heal the wounds inflicted by some authoritarian bastard than my little seed of chaos?”

Jester laughed, wetly, and from the brush the clattering of branches grabbed her attention once more, and she looked back to see Yasha maneuvering out of the thicket, returning her sword to her sheath.

“Just some rabbits.” She explained with a sigh, before freezing, taking a long look at Jester. “Jester are you okay?”

Jester blinked, and turned back around to where the traveler was, only to see nothing but the darkened forest beyond. _Typical_ of him. Such a sneak. She sniffled, and rubbed the heel of her hand against her eye.

“I’m doing a little better.” She said, glancing over at where Caleb was still sleeping. She’d rested long enough that she could feel the little tingle of her divine magic on her fingertips. “Yeah. A lot better, actually.”

Yasha gave her a quick once over, but, apparently satisfied with Jester’s answer, nodded, and returned to her place back at Jester’s side.

And together, they waited for a quiet dawn with a renewed sense of direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the very first things Katt and I established about Eodwulf is that wisdom score is seven. SEVEN. Sometimes I ask myself if seven is too high.
> 
> At least the Mighty Nein know what's up. Sorta. Mostly. 50% at LEAST.


	4. Remove Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho boy sorry for the delay folks. had some trouble getting started on this chapter and then Midterms happened.
> 
> WARNING!!: Flashback for this chapter features Bren directly after escaping the asylum and as such we have some preeeeeeety graphic suicidal thoughts and self hatred all over the place. If this type of content is upsetting to you then I reccomend just skipping past the italicized text entirely, as nothing of particular note is revealed in it, but it is rather just something that fit with the overall themes of the chapter.
> 
> Also Eye strain warning for the second peice of art in the chapter is kinda bright?

_Bren Aldric Ermendrud always knew which way pointed north. Now, he would always know what direction to run from._

_He had learned not long after he had awoken from his timeless, hazy nightmare that the asylum was located some miles south of Rexxentrum, thought still a far ways off from the Silberquel Ridge._

_He still needed to get to the ridge before he made his choice. Hug along the eastern side in the Pearlbow wilderness, and meet a messy end to some horrible beasts, or attempt to travel southwest and risk discovery at the amber crossroads, hauled back to Master Ikithon to do… everything he’d done to traitors. Probably more. Certainly more._

_He had been running the past five hours and twenty one minutes. Before that, he ran for only two hours and sixteen minutes, until he came across a river he had used to soak himself, coating himself if mud and muck (would they send hounds? He had no idea how much value was placed on him, nor the man he killed), and take that precious hour needed to attune to his one and only saving grace--an amulet of proof against detection and location._

_Master Ikithon had said that they would all wear them one day, when they had proven their worth and skill to him properly, and he thought it prudent to ensure that their secrets were not open for the world to see._

_He imagined this was not what Master Ikithon had in mind. He might have once found it funny. Now it just made his stomach curdle._

_Light was fading from the sky now. Twilight had past and the last light of the sun was starting to slowly give way as darkness overtook the landscape. He wanted to keep running, but his eyes would fail him sooner rather than later, and he dared not attempt to cast_ Dancing Lights _and risk curious eyes._

_He had found an outcropping of rock, with a slight divot to it near the center, and decided this would be his first camp. It wasn’t cold enough to merit a campfire, so he didn't make one. He simply put his back against the stone, drew his legs up, and sat, waiting for the exhaustion that filled his chest and bones to overtake him._

__

_But, his mind bombarded him with a deluge of thoughts that left him awake, staring out into the vast silence of the fields before him. Even as his eyes sagged and his muscles ached in exhaustion, he couldn’t quell his mind in the least. Not even as the moons rose in the sky and the stars twinkled into the view. Not granting him rest was a punishment for sure, and one he fully deserved._

_“Please,” He croaked, his voice still new to him. Deeper. Crackled and ragged at the edges, most likely from disuse, judging from the slight soreness that came when he spoke, as if his throat had been unaccustomed to air blowing that way for some time now. It sounded disgusting. “Just let me rest, I cannot keep wandering blind.”_

_The only ‘rest’ he could count on was an eternal one, should he be found. Master Ikithon would not make it painless, he was sure. Might make him point out the woman who took the clouds away, and broke and burned the fake memory into his mind. He’d give her over, too. He saw strange iconography on her after she cured him--probably worshipped unapproved deities._

_Bren sighed harshly, digging his face deeper into his arm. Every thought was like a raindrop pattering on the back of his skull. “I need to sleep. I need to sleep so I can keep moving tomorrow--by then the word will have spread to Rexxentrum, if not already, and I will have to move much much further.”_

_Or he could double back. He could let Master Ikithon capture him and take what he is due for him crimes against both the Empire and those he claimed to love. He could tell them all what happened as he burned at the stocks. Or he could just double back to the river, find a suitably deep spot and lie face down until he ceased to be. But he wouldn’t do either of those things, because he was quite certain if he took more than three steps north at this point, he would lock up in fear and cowardice until he turned around to keep running, running, running far and away from home. That’s the kind of miserable cretin he was. Unable to even confess to his crimes._

_“No, no, no,” Bren shook his head. His arm itched. “Southward. If I can get to the Silberquel Ridge they probably won’t bring hounds anymore.”_

_He could also choose a more direct route. There were plenty of stones he could sharpen, diminished as he was. Jagged lines to match the scars where they removed the crystals Master Ikithon had placed in his arm, leaving only the messy, ragged scars of a failure. He wouldn’t do that either. He’d thought about it in the asylum, too, but could find no stones. He didn’t want to place any more rocks under his skin anyways, not even the smallest spec of dirt, they always itched and burned and hurt and ached when it was the crystals and dying like that sounded deserved, but he knew he wouldn’t go through with it because he was just_ that _pathetic._

_As if an uncomfortable stone would have had any affect on his choice to kill his parents. Filth._

_“Once I get there,” he muttered, his voice still somehow quieter than his thoughts, “I can decide if I continue south or veer southwest.”_

_A cold wind blew over from his right side, cutting through his filthy, roughspun clothes from the asylum, scattering the heat in his body to the left. He wondered if his clothes were obviously that of a madman’s, smeared in mud as they were. Would that make it better or worse? Time would tell._

_“Can’t build a campfire, too attention grabbing. People might be curious, people might offer aid, the way I look.” He shook his head. “Not in the open.”_

_He was just afraid of staring into the flames again. It would take him back there to the clouded place--he was sure of it. He would just have to handle the cold alone for one night--just one._

_Alone._

_“I can find more shelter in the morning. If I go into the wilds or find a cave I could build a fire.”_

_When was the last time he had been alone? Years...no, it was decades at this point, he supposed._

_“No, no, wait,” He hissed, his fingers wrapping around fistfuls of hair, “I shouldn’t find it in the morning. I should try to move as much as I can before I look, I need to keep making space.”_

_Where were Eodwulf and Astrid, he wondered. Surely they must have forgotten all about him by now, the ghost of Bren Ermendrud locked up by their master a decade’s past. They were probably doing well, he thought. They weren’t failures and disappointments. Even though they were murderers as he was, at least they could be of use to the Empire as that. Maybe they were being sent to kill him?_

_He’d like to see them again, even if it was for that. Just a little. Just a lot._

_He shook his head again. “They’d kill me. I cannot--can’t--Not until I can find some way…”_

_He’d never see them again and live to tell the tale. The lucky thing would be if they were dead._

_Bren grit his teeth, rocking back and forth in place._

_The line of work they were going into, and after his catastrophic failure of trying to fix the problem that was the Ermendrud family, he’d left them leaderless. It had been a decade. They could very well have died, no matter how powerful Astrid was or how skilled Eodwulf was. If anything, odds were against them._

_“No, no, Stop. Don’t think about it. Don’t, don’t, no, no.” Bren begged, his breath coming up in short bursts like his lungs had been clogged with smoke--like he was trapped on a house that was on fire--like a fire he set._

_Maybe he’d killed them too, just like Vati and Mutti. Seems about right for someone as disgusting as him--He’d already killed off half the people he loved, why not finish the job? He was always something of a completionist and if he focused he could almost remember glimpses of them in the clouded fog in his mind lodged between the burning and the healing, and--_

_Bren_ snarled _, to no one and nothing but the putrid voice in his head that was his own, and his voice shook out of his mouth rattling like rain on a roof of tin._

 _“Shut up,” he hissed, “Just shut the fuck up, all of it! Be useful for once--think of a fucking plan! Use that_ gifted _mind of yours to come up with something clever you piece of shit, instead of crying like a lunatic!”_

_Bren tightened his grip on his legs drawing them closer and closer until all there was was the dark cramped space he pulled his body into, and his bones splintered and cracked from the force of trying to pull himself together. He rocked back and forth. His mind grew quiet, and thought of a campfire he couldn’t light crackling in his ears as he drifted off to lonely, lonely sleep._

 

* * *

 

There was one thing about his robes that Eodwulf was fond of--pockets to carry all sorts of useful things. Chalk infused with cheap gemstones, for instance.

Fortunately, Kamordah was just the right combination of economically prosperous and well-populated to afford a permanent teleportation circle to be installed for the Cerberus Assembly. The Assembly liked to have as many permanent circles as possible scattered throughout the empire, but not every town could afford the costly set up process, and even less had local wizards with the approval of the assembly needed to establish them. Not every member of the assembly had the skill with conjuration needed to cast the _Teleportation_   _Circle_ spell, after all.

It also rather nicely cut a line between members of the Assembly who were capable of casting a level of magic one would consider truly noteworthy, and those who did not. It had been a proud day for him and Astrid both when they had been awarded with the sigil sequences owned by the assembly, nearly a decade past.

But that felt all so inconsequential now. Right now, he simply did not have time nor patience to wander around in the woods trying to find his way back on foot. It meant nothing but a means to an end.

The Assembly only had one small office in Kamordah, and at this hour when he arrived again by stepping through the portal, to the dark simple room decorated with nothing but sigil patterns on a stone floor, sounded silent. He forced his nerves to be quiet, hanging his hands in his vest pockets casually as he moved through the office, a slight smile slotting carelessly onto his face. He threw a quick _Disguise Self_ on himself to mask the fact a bruise was likely starting to form on his face, but otherwise left his appearance unchanged. He would need the spell soon anyways.

Casually as he could, he strolled through their office, closing the door to the room which contained the teleportation circle behind him, and watched as it disappeared behind an illusory wall. He raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t really noticed when he and Astrid first arrived, but they really might want to look into upping the security here. He shook off the thought, and continued on his way.

The office was terribly empty at this hour, as he passed by empty desks and variety of locked doors, bookshelves with glass panels over them containing arcane tomes, all barely lit by dim arcane lamplight. He would have sworn that the place had been all but abandoned, were it not for the fact that as he approached the front extrence of the office, he heard a voice.

“Hello?” A uncertain sounding woman called out. He recognized the voice. The girl who had been a receptionist at this office and had pointed himself and Astrid in the direction of the Ivy Hammock.

He _really_ didn’t want Astrid to have any idea of what he was really doing. Asking this girl to zip her lip would only draw more suspicion to him, and he could be certain that Astrid would be stopping by the office tomorrow to report her sighting of Bren, if she hadn’t already. If she heard he’d showed up late at night in the office _after_ she had told him about Bren, she’d want to know why he was there. He’d need to come up with something a little more expected of him that wouldn’t require an explanation from him.

Eodwulf altered his _Disguise Self_ to make himself looked flushed, loosened his shoulders, let his eyes get a bit unfocused, and wove a stumble into his step. He dug his hand into his robe by the shoulder, and pushed it down so it was not _quite_ falling off his shoulder, and mussed up his hair.

“Hey!” He greeted back jovially as he rounded the corner, meeting eyes with a young half-elf women with bottom rimmed glasses leaning over a counter with a concerned look on her face. He waved at her easily, chuckling.

“Um. Mr… Dieshafer?” She stammered out, her eyes scanning him, “I… uh, didn’t realize you were in here?”

“Wasn’t,” He said with a smile and a shrug, “Not til’ a minute ago, at least.”

“Oh.” She said with pained expression on her face. He made sure to stumble a bit away from her. He didn’t actually smell like booze, after all. “Do you, uh, need anything?”

“Aw… you’re sweet.” Eodwulf held a hand to his heart. “What’s your name?”

“Mirabelle.”

“That’s right!” He snapped his fingers, slowing his pace to linger around the front entrance, but still slowly but surely headed to the door. Make _her_ want him to leave. “Mirabelle, you’re sweet, but no, I’m good, I’m fine.”

“Of course.” She said, though Eodwulf guessed she probably wanted to say something completely different.

“I just got a little…” He waved his fingers around in loose circular motions, swaying, “ _turned around_ , hehe, and figured like, why _wander_ when you have magic, right? Do you know what that’s like? Just like, sometimes you forget a little, like, oh, shit, right, I got magic!”

“Right.” She agreed, her gaze shifting off him.

“Yeah! Exactly!” He laughed as he reached the door, and hooked his fingers around the doorknob, leaning on it heavily, as if to support his weight. “You’re great, Mirabelle, great, you know that?”

“Thank you sir,” She nodded with a tight expression. She started to shift papers around on her desk, as if looking for something. Pretending to look busy so he’d take the hint and leave.

“Well,” Eodwulf sighed, cracking the door open, “Don’t work too hard now, Mira, burning the midnight oil’s no fun at _all_. You gotta live a little!”

“I’ll try to do that.” she said, ducking her head down to pretend to read a document.

“You have a good one!” He called with a wave as he slipped out the door, and slammed it behind him. He’d could swear he heard her sigh of relief though the door. He smiled to himself, for just a moment. Even if she went around telling people, it would hardly be shocking news that required much prying.

Astrid might disagree, but he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

Eodwulf took a deep breath, and set off, keeping his expression dull and his steps listless. Best to blend in.

The streets of Karmordah were officially dark at this point, only the odd streetlamp and the light of the late-running businesses and homes to guide him. What few people wandered the streets, from couples on lightnight strolls, to the drunks he hid in plain sight with, paid him no mind as he continued his lazy half stumble along the streets.

He wasn’t exactly certain of where he needed to go, but he had a name and a general area-- the shadier parts of the city, where slums met with the more untoward business practices, but hadn’t quite spilled over yet. From what he understood, it was the place to be if you didn’t have the coin for the Ivy Hammock.

It was also the base of operations for Kamordah’s branch of the Myriad.

Eodwulf had dealt with the Myriad a fair few times. Through them, he learned that much of the unapproved religious iconography that circulated in the empire traded through Myriad hands at least once in its lifetime. As a result, nearly any Myriad base, always had a cleric on hand, for a quick and easy, off the record healing, for the right coin. In exchange for the tools and means to practice their religion in peace, as well as a safe place to hide from the Reapers come the biannual tithe, the Clerics would provide healing for those who needed any injuries origins to be kept secret. They wouldn’t care when he asked them to remove a curse on him that just wasn’t there, not after he’d lined their pockets with coin.

Idly, he pat his robe, making sure the coin pouch he had brought with him was still there, which, thankfully, it was. Diminished as it was after buying those bottles of Thistle branch, 50 Platinums could get you pretty far. He was sure it would more than cover the cost.

He slipped into a dark alley, and altered his disguise self once again, brushing a hand over his face with one hand, just in case anyone happened to be glancing his way.

He turned the shape of his eyes, and their color to brown. He thinned his mouth and eyebrows to make his face sharp, and let a pencil moustache grow in on his face. A scar here, a wrinkle there, square up his jaw, turn his skin a shade more sallow, a splash of freckles on his cheeks, and let his hairline pull back just a bit. Keep the teeth, keep the nose. It won’t sit the same way on a new face either way, and the best lies always have a kernel of truth to them.

Just because he worked with the Myriad, didn’t mean he trusted them far as he could throw them. He’d show his face to them the day his corpse drops dead in their sects, and not a minute sooner.

He also had _something_ of a reputation to uphold.

He’d keep the robes though. Sometimes being able to throw the Assembly weight around could be advantageous.

He continued wandering the city, headed in the direction of the slums, and let his mind wander. Just a bit. He couldn’t help but wonder _why_ Bren thought that Trent had cast _Modify Memory_ on them in the first place-- nd of all things, for him to use it to frame their parents? Ludicrous.

Eodwulf frowned, a heaviness making itself known in his chest. Perhaps that was just his way of coping now. Bren had seemed... better, at least. He was talking, and acting with purpose, even if it was one of complete nonsense. Traded one form of madness for another--deluded into thinking that the Empire was his adversary when it was the home of the only people left in the world who still cared about him. Eodwulf could understand, in a way. Killing their parents hadn’t been easy for him and Astrid either, though they hadn’t broken as a result of it. The idea that it was all just some vast conspiracy that Bren had fallen victim to... in a way, that might be more comforting than the reality of his parents having been traitors.

But… who had put the idea in his head in the first place? Surely he was not in a state to come to such a conclusion on his own.

Eodwulf’s expression hardened and he stared down at the cobblestone streets, his teeth grinding in his mouth as he thought of _those people_.

The people Bren had been with were nothing but bad news. He hadn’t gotten a very good look at them with only the distant campfire to light up the clearing. He was _quite certain_ , however, that the one who was with Bren when he arrived had been a goblin. Why the hell Bren was being attended to by a goblin of all things, he had no idea, but it made his blood boil and freeze in an alternating step. None of the the answers were good.

Why had he been sitting away from the campfire in the first place? They couldn’t possibly be treating him right, not when he was forced away from the warmth of the fire on his own with only a fucking _goblin_ to attend to him. Bren deserved more than that.

Maybe _they_ had been the ones who used _Modify Memory_ on him. Happened across him somehow and decided to twist and spin the situation in their favor; make him a weapon of some sort they could point at the Empire by abusing his already fragile mind until it _broke_ in a way that suited them.

Then there was just the simple fact Bren has looked so--so _tattered_. Dressed in barely above rags like he was some sort of slave. Even in the dark he could see quite clearly that the others in their little group were not wearing anything half as shabby. From their brief hug, Eodwulf could tell he was thin, too. Were they even fucking feeding him?

Eodwulf’s fingers curled into fists. He needed to get Bren away from those people as soon as possible, once he had followed through on Bren’s request.

Ridiculous as the idea was, he didn’t want to just _lie_ so plainly to Bren, not if he could help it. After all those years of knowing no peace, and after who knows how long of being fed nothing but lies by those people he was with, he deserved the honest truth from Eodwulf. He deserved to have his wishes honored, mislead as they were.

He was quite sure that a group of that size wouldn’t be able to get far in any sort of hurry. He could find them after. Of that, he was quite certain. He would get Bren out of there, this time by force or coercion if Bren was too far gone to hear the truth. He could only hope it wouldn’t come to that.

Then, he could take his time paying back those people for what they did to Bren.

He was… fairly sure that once he explained the situation to Astrid, she would understand as well that Bren was just a victim here. He just wasn’t in his right mind. She would understand. Then they could figure out what to do together. Maybe.

Eodwulf shook his head. He would cross that bridge when he got to it.

Wandering through the maze like back alleys of Kamordah, Eodwulf watched as the buildings around him grew shabbier and shabbier, until he started to hit the point where people were sleeping in the alleyways and gutters around him, or at least trying--beggars who had packed up for the day, or drunks who had already broken the limits of their tolerance while the night was still fairly young. The lamps in the area were old, and some broken, and those still lit nearly all had someone loitering below them, either watching and waiting, or engaged in some private hushed talk with someone else.

It did not take him long to find what he was searching for. It was the biggest, and best-looking building in the area--as far as he could tell in the dark at least. Several stories tall, the building didn’t have the same worn-down-but-good-enough appearances of the other businesses. All of the shutters on the windows were neatly in place, and a few near the front featured a metal, fancy looking grill. Absolutely nothing any of the other businesses in the area could afford, Eodwulf imagined.

The Nesting Yard. A few people loitered around the front entrance, chatting idly amongst themselves, paying him no mind. Quickly, when he didn’t think any eyes where on him, he re-applied his cast of _Disguise Self_ , just in case. Couldn’t have that running out on him, just in case he needed to wait. He only had about 20 or so minutes left, by his estimation.

His disguise renewed, he strode into the Nesting Yard, a bell ringing overhead as he walked into the warm, dark wood interior room, decorated sparsely with a few chairs, and more of a waiting area than anything, going by the number of doors on the walls. A receptionist, a halfling man with greasy, slicked back greying hair and a crooked grin, who looked plainly too small for the desk he sat at, stared at him. He felt the man give him a once over, and his face split open in a too-wide, cat-who-got-the-canary smile.

“Why, _hello_ , Sir!” He said, leaning forward, probably not really trying, but still failing to sound friendly, “It is always a pleasure to see someone from the _Assembly_ poking their nose into our humble abode.”

“Aha,” Eodwulf shook his head, waving him off with a hand. “No, please, I believe the pleasure is all mine.”

“Oh?”

“But of course.” said Eodwulf as he leaned down on the edge of the receptionist’s desk, pointing an easy smile back at the halfling. “That would be the _intent_ of this locale, is it not?”

The halfling guffawed. “Oh, in a manner of speaking…”

“Well then, I would like a room.”

“Well,” The halfling glanced down, at a rather intricate, half-filled out chart, “I’m just not sure If we have a room well suited to someone of your _stature_ , good sir, and--”

“Oh, well, room or no room,” He cut the halfling off, pausing for just a moment, trying to remember what the password was for this particular branch… Ah, right. “I am hoping for a night full of golden opportunities.”

The halfling glanced back up. Eodwulf leaned further on the desk, smile never leaving his face. The halfling stared at him for a few seconds, and his smile became wooden.

“You know what,” He said, “I do think I might have a room that suits you, sir.”

The halfling hopped down from the chair he was sat on, which came up to about his neck while standing, and gestured for Eodwulf to follow, as he opened a door to a hallway behind him. Eodwulf obliged.

He followed the halfling, keeping his eyes trained on the little man as he took hurried steps, passing by a number of doors, in an effort to keep a few paces of distance between them. Eodwulf imagined he was not new to the game. Eventually, he reached a small door at the end of the hall, more suited for halflings than it was for humans. He tugged a key he wore around his neck on a string out from under his shirt, and unlocked the door, opening it for Eodwulf, revealing a staircase that ascended upward.

“Do watch your head sir,” He said with a stiff bow, as if the act was physically painful for him, and stepped aside.

Eodwulf gave him his best genuine-seeming nod of appreciation, and ducked under the door. Mercifully the stairwell itself had a ceiling high enough he could stand comfortably as he ascended the stairs, the sound of idle chatter finding his ears.

As he ascended the stairs, he realized that the air was slightly smoky, smelling somewhat sharp and pungent, causing his nose to wrinkle, and a bit of bile burn at the back of his throat. Someone was smoking Oloore root. Below that there was a variety of chemical scents he had to assume was the smell of people smoking suude, or any number of equally banned substances.

It seems the wine capital of the empire had more potent substances than just fine vintage.

As the stairs opened up to the room around him, there were a number of people--halflings, mostly, and then an assortment of others--milling about and lazing around on various large pillows and couches. The room was hazy and dimly lit, a number of curtains obscuring sections of it. Several of people seemed dazed, mostly those lying down, staring off into space, while most of those who milled around seemed uninhibited. As he reached the top of the stairs, a bulky looking, worn half-orc dressed in plain robes narrowed his eyes at him and shifted, moving a hand in front of him.

“Hold,” The half orc grunted, his voice shaking the air around him in spite of the quiet and level tone of voice, “What’s your business?”

“Money making opportunity for the Madame,” Eodwulf smiled. “A friend back home told me about the Proprietress of the Nesting Yard, and her penchant for being a Myriad of solutions to various problems.”

The half orc squinted at him, and with surprising deftness, hooked a finger into Eodwulf’s robe, pulling it open just a touch. Eodwulf kept himself still and his face placid.

“You on official business here, Assembly boy?” The Half-orc sniffed, folding his arms and started to scour Eodwulf over with a hard look.

“Not currently,” Eodwulf shrugged, sure to meet the Half-orcs eyes before he lied,  “Though, It could become that in short order, if that’s what you’d like. But, I value discretion.”

The half orc stared at him for a few long moments in silence, but Eodwulf knew that trick far too well to be phased. Silence in a conversation was the quickest way to off-foot amateurs, and smoke out lies. Amending and backtracking was the dialect of the nervous. After a few moments of a whole lot of nothing, the half-orc sighed.

“She’s in the back.” He said gesturing vaguely over Eodwulf’s shoulder and shifted back to where he was standing guard before Eodwulf arrived, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck as he did. “You’ll know her when you see her. Try something funny and you’ll be picking that smile of yours out of the floorboards.”

Charming.

“My thanks,” Eodwulf said, and ignored the lingering stare of the half-orc as he moved around him and turned around and--

Well, he certainly did know her when he saw her.

At the far end of the room there was an assortment of pillows piled on top of one another, and atop that, looking more like a jewel on a museum display than a person, sat an older halfling woman with copper skin, and white hair, dressed in fine tunic with heavy-looking amber vestments and a wide-brimmed floppy orange hat decorated with small, ineffective veil and tassels along the brim. Her arms, neck, and handers were decorated in an assortment of jewelry, from precious metals, to pearls, to stones, to combinations of all three worn on various rings, bracelets, and necklaces. In one hand she held a long stem pipe she ildy puffed as she fixed her gaze on Eodwulf like a dog eyeing a piece of meat. Sleeping at the base of the pile of pillows was a blue guard drake, and on either side of the halfling woman, she was attended by a particularly nastily scarred gnommish fellow in leather armor, and a half-elf woman dressed in the same style of robes as his new half-orc friend.

He’d been told the Kamordah sect’s leader had a bit of a… thing, for opulence.

Eodwulf’s smile brightened, though not by much, and he sauntered over to greet the head of of the Kamordah sect of the Myriad, ignoring the stares he collected as he went. As he approached, the guard drake lifted its head lazily. It’s amber slit eyes fell on him for just a moment before it lowered its head back down, but one eye stayed trained on him.

“Well, well,” The Proprietress said, her voice like crackling firewood and laced with sweetness, “This is a surprise. I thought you Assembly types _much_ prefered the Ivy Hammock to my humble abode. To what do I owe the pleasure, Mister…?”

“Wolf,” Eodwulf said, bowing his head, “It’s an honor to meet you face to face. I have heard nothing but good things about you, Madame Paejen.”

Her eyes widened for just a moment. “Have you now?”

“Well, good in a particular sort of way.”

A smirk crawled across her face and she chuckled in the back of her throat, the sound like a rocking chair in a windstorm, “Well aren’t you well-informed...”

Eodwulf winked. “Caught me.”

“However, Mr. Wolf, I hardly imagine you’d come all this way for flirting and pleasantries. Not when you’re so…” Madame Paejen took her pipe out of her mouth, and tapped some ash from the bowl with one finger, into an ashtray at her side. “ _Esteemed._ ”

“Of course not Madame. I am simply here to request the services of the Myriad, for the right price, of course.”

Madame Paejen leaned forward from where she was seated. “Don’t beat around the bush then, Mr. Wolf. What services are you inquiring about?”

“I want to have a curse removed--or at least, have _remove curse_ cast upon me by one of your in-house healers.” Eodwulf said, reaching into his robes and pulling out his coin purse. He threw it up in the air, only to catch it again, sending the coins inside rattling in chorus. “Off the record, paid in platinums.”

“A curse, you say?” Madame Paejen raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes sharp and prying. “Why not have some of your Assembly friends have that undone? Or a mandated Cleric? Trouble in paradise Mr. Wolf, or have you just been _naughty_?”

“30 platinums sounds fair to me...” Eodwulf ignored her, spilling the contents of his coin purse into his hand.

“Sensitive subject my dear?” Madame Paejen pressed, mirth in her tone. “Don’t want your friends to find out what you’ve been up to?”

“I’ll make it 40 for no more questions.” Eodwulf spilled more coin into his hands, a blithe smile on his lips. “But by all means, keep pressing if you want. I wouldn’t mind staying longer for negotiations. The assembly has been very particular about the distribution of Residuum byproduct these days, and I’d love to see more of your stock. I’m sure my superiors would be very interested to hear all about it… though as of right now I don’t see anything I’m _certain_ is worth mentioning…”

Madame Paejen’s amusement expression vanished with a snort. “Cheeky brat.”

“I try, Madame.” Eodwulf said, counting out the last of 40 coins, and offering them out between a clenched fist. “But really, I would prefer to do this the easy way. It’s _terribly_ late, you see.”

Madame Paejen’s eyes raked over his face and body, scouring him for any sort of hint or tell to lead her decision. Eodwulf knew he held the most cards here, and he just needed to wait for her to come to that same conclusion. One did not get to the position that she had secured for herself without knowing when to graciously give ground. An Assembly wizard walking directly in through her front door alone would only do so for one reason; they knew for certain they could leave. Eodwulf was even paying her extra. The conclusion was foregone.

“Very well,” She sighed, pretending to sound terribly put out and hospitable, “40 platinums it is. Ruus, Please accept the Mr. Wolf’s payment.”

The half-elf girl approached him, with a collection plate in hand. He raised an eyebrow, but deposited his coins on the plate with a soft clatter. The half-elf girl gave him a lingering, hostile seeming glance, but spun on her heel, and returned to Madame’s side. As she passed, Madame Paejen reached up and plucked a platinum from the tray, and looked it over. She smirked, and then gestured to scarred gnome on her other side.

The gnome, lifting his chin before he sauntered forward, arms crossed, sizing Eodwulf up. An amused, but not unkind smile seemed to make its way to the gnome’s face as he approached, and Eodwulf watched him fish a small blue medallion from his from under his armor, a circle with four jagged thunderbolts jutting out of it. The symbol of the stormlord.

“I’ll uh,” He offered a hand out to Eodwulf, as if he wanted a shake. “Be needin’ a hand, laddie. Unless you want me gropin’ yer thigh for this.”

Eodwulf offered his hand back, and a fierce grip found its way around his hand. The Gnome’s grin took a slightly wicked turn and his eyes glinted with just a bit of mischief.

“Now, just so we’re clear,” The gnome said, “ya may feel some _slight_ discomfort. I ain’t one of those dainty types, ‘n curse removal ain’t always pleasant. And uh, if yer gonna toss yer cookies afterward, try to aim it,” He jerked a finger to the side, “thattaway.”

Eodwulf smiled back. “Noted. Don’t be disappointed when I don’t flinch, now.”

The gnome let out a wheezy chuckle, and shook his head. “S’what they all say.”

The gnome closed his eyes, and held his medallion up just a bit in his other hand as he gestured through the air, and muttered a muffled prayer.

Eodwulf closed his eyes. Once this was done… he could go back to Bren, dispel all of his concerns about Trent, and get him back

Properly this time.

A slight pain pierced into Eodwulf’s hand, like a static shock transferred over from the gnome’s hand, in a single pulse of power. It arced up his arm, along his jugular, up to his skull and gave him a solid jolt as the magic reverberated in his bones and lungs, making his chest tingle strangely.

For a moment, nothing happened.

But _then_.

Unbidden, a memory was brought to the forefront of his mind. He recalled an old, painful memory, staticky along the edges with age, of the fateful night he snuck out of his bed, and overheard his parent’s plans for revolution lit by low candlelight, just as he always did. He remembered the way the floorboards creaked underneath his feet, and how he quickly cast _Invisibility_ on himself to avoid being caught, and quietly clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle his breath. How he just barely managed to avoid getting caught before he snuck back to bed and sat there in stunned silence until sleep somehow claimed him.

But then he remembered _more_.

The sound of his father lumbering up to the sound of the floorboards under his feet, an old, misshapen wax candle in hand, as he poked his head out to investigate on any evesdroppers onto their treason, illuminating the hallway in soft orange candleglow, but not Eodwulf. He remembered the way the light flickered on his father’s severe face, the shadow of his beard casting a death mask over his face as he looked into Eodwulf’s eyes and saw nothing. He recalled the clamminess of his own hands, the shiver in his bones, the sour smell of alcohol on his father’s breath, with vivid detail, growing more and more blindingly clear and hot in his eyes until it nearly burned to look at--until it _did_ burn as a sudden pain boiled up in his skull, like someone had placed a white-hot coal there, growing hotter by the second, and setting his mind ablaze. Until suddenly, the memory froze in his mind’s eye, and one bright, brilliant crack rent through it like someone had buried a broadsword to the hilt in a pane of glass, sending irreparable fissures through the vision, until all that was left was a burning, white hot distortion of the memory, burning, burning, _burning_ itself into his mind like a brand.

His heart jumped to his throat and everything swayed around him like he had been flipped on his head, and cracks, weblike and uncaring, spread from the initial blow, and shards of magic flaked off revealing the truth in negative space underneath. For just a moment, the memory struggled to maintain form in his mind, before it shuddered one last dying breath, and crumbled into shards in his mind, like glass tumbling from an irrevocably broken mirror, and falling into his chest and gut in long, gruesome cuts. It left nothing behind but a scar, like an image burned into his mind rather than a real memory--hollow, faulty, and utterly, impossibly _fake._

A new memory rose up to join it. One of Trent Ikithon’s voice, describing in detail everything Eodwulf saw on that fateful night, of verbal and somatic components he recognized in a heartbeat, of the man’s cheshire grin as he asked if there was anything of note Eodwulf saw while visiting Blumenthal.

The memory of Trent Ikithon casting _Modify Memory_ on him.

The world swirled around Eodwulf, as he opened his eyes, his face hot and wet, his own mouth bellowing in an anguished howl, crumpled down on his hands and knees. One of his hands gripped and pressed hard into his face, covering his right eye as the burning, throbbing sensation continued behind his eyes. His ears rung. His stomach turned and raw, unfiltered disgust broke past his mouth as he vomited on the floor, leaving him panting like a dog. He was dimly aware of commotion around him and his mind still spun around, and around, battered with an endless torrent of thoughts too dispersed and panicked to make sense of--all but one.

_Bren was right._

A hand found its way to his shoulder.

“ _Don’t touch me_ ” Eodwulf snarled, smacking the hand away, his head bolting up and whipping back and forth, trying to access his surroundings. Several people were shouting and staring, both clients and workers alike.

Madame Paejen had actually gotten up from her perch and was grabbing the Gnome who had cast _Remove Curse_ on him by the collar, shouting in his face; “What did you cast on him?! He’s with the fucking Assembly, you moron!”

The gnome shook his head from side to side, denial and insistence that he only cast _Remove Curse_ overflowing from his mouth. The half-elf was the one who grabbed his shoulder, and had taken a step back, looking at him with alarm. The half-orc from earlier had joined on the opposite side, forming a barrier between him and the nearest clients, who were staring like he was some sort of spectacle. A number of other people were on their feet, dressed in some level of armor with weapons drawn. The guard drake was snarling in place, low to the ground and ready to pounce.

He needed to get out of here. Bren was _right_.

Eodwulf stumbled to his feet, shaking his head, moving towards the steps, his head still throbbing and his stomach still twisted in knots. The half-elf moved to block the way.

“Sir,” She started to say, holding up a hand to halt him.

“ _Leave me be!”_ Eodwulf snarled again, trying to move past her, only for her to interpose between him and the stairs. He stumbled back, nearly retching again, his teeth grit until his ears rang, feeling all too much like a cornered animal. He needed to get to Bren.

“Sir, _please,_ ”

“Hey, don’t you fuckin--what the...”

“Mr. Wolf I am _deeply sorry_ for my cleric’s stupidity.”

“I didn’t _do_ anythin’!”

Eodwulf shut out the chorus of voices, and extended a hand, trembling with a white knuckle grip on the weave as he started to draw a triangle in the air with a shaking finger.

“ _Leave!_ ” He shouted, and drew the first line.

“Wait, he’s--!”

“ _Me!_ ” He drew a second line, and closed his eyes.

“Hold on!”

“Stop!”

“ _Be!”_ He completed the triangle, and cast _Hypnotic Pattern_ . All he could think of was his _Ice Knife_ sinking into his father’s throat, Bren’s house burning, Astrid’s parents begging for aide as they choked on their last meal. Even though his closed eyes, he could narrowly make out a snarl of color and light, reflecting all three blended into one horrible pattern. He was sure it was vile.

The screaming sobered him, as panic sunk in around him, and he opened his eyes again and the people in varying states of fear and stupor. The half-elf woman in front of him looked dazed, and he pushed past her, as arcane words started spilling from his lips.

“What did you do?!” Madame Paejen shrieked, but he ignored her, as he continued his incantation.

He felt the _Hypnotic Pattern_ crumble in his mind, unable to draw the focus needed to keep the spell up. All his focus was on one thing. Bren. He needed to get to Bren. Bren was _right_ and he needed to get to him.

He completed his incantation and he could feel the sense of the vertigo overcome him again as the world around him warped in preparation for the spell, and he cast _Teleport_ , with one wish in his mind: Take me to where I last saw Bren.

White overwhelmed his vision as his surrounding spun out of sight and senses, and space bent and shot him out, like he tumbled into a pool of frigid water. A jolt of errant arcane energy pulsed through him as space twisted, like a punch to the chest that knocked the wind out of him as the spell came to completion, and he fell ass over teakettle onto the ground, coughing and gasping for breath.

It was dark. There was no gentle firelight of a campfire. Only the harsh white glow of the moon overhead. There was no commotion to greet him. The forest was still and silent and unceremonious as his extrence.

His breath still coming out in errantic bursts, he hefted himself up to a sitting position, and looked around. The forest was near featureless in the dark. Even the moon did little to shed light on his surroundings.

“Bren?!” He called, as loud as his voice would carry. But his shout was met with only the echo from it reverberating off the trees.

Eodwulf swallowed, scrambling to his feet. He looked around once more, for a sign, for anything, but beyond the treeline of the clearing the forest dissolved into nothing but an inky dark. He called Bren’s name again, and still, no answer came.

After a few seconds, he shook his head. He... He might be off. He might not have even been at the same place. Teleport was always a tricky spell and his ride had been a bumpy one. He needed to find Bren. Everything else was secondary. The ramifications of his memory being restored could--would _have_ to wait. With a wave of his hand, he cast dancing lights, and immediately, four globules of light appeared around him, flickering into being.

Even concentrating on that was… difficult. Two of them sputtered and died before he reminded himself to focus, and started to move the remaining two around, trying to get his bearings.

He was in a clearing. He moved the lights. Of the same size as the one he saw Bren at. He moved the lights. There was the remains of a campfire, having been doused at some point. He glanced down at the ground, and noticed that a perfectly straight imprint has been pressed into the ground, like something heavy had been dropped there. Numbly, he walked over, the lights fading as his concentration crumbled again, and he put his hands on the firepit.

Still just a bit warm.

Eodwulf felt like he was going to be sick again, as a shuddering gasp pulled its way from his chest, and more tears spilled down his cheeks. He rubbed furiously at his face with his sleeve, and as loud as his voice would carry, shouted Bren’s name in vain.

He shouted, over and over, in all directions until his voice cracked and grew hoarse, his mouth growing sticky and dry with mucus as an encroaching frost filled his chest, and pulled the strength from his lungs, until his breath came out of his mouth sharp, cold and metallic. He felt dizzy and weightless, lightheaded in spite of the pain that still lingered behind his eyes, as he turned around, again and again, but still stuck in the same spot, his feet frozen in place, searching for a sign, an answer, for _Bren_ \--anything that he wanted and needed but _knew_ wasn’t coming.

Mutely, he sunk back to the ground, the chill of winter and the shadows of the trees consuming him. He fell the last of the distance with a soft thud, leaving him nothing but an empty campground around him. Unable to think with the jagged shards of his broken memory cluttering his mind in a whirlwind of unfinished thoughts. Unable to move with the numb in his limbs steadily freezing him fast to the earth. Unable to swallow enough air to fill the growing void in his chest and he realized he was well and truly alone.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled belatedly down towards his knees, to no one, to anyone, “ _I’m sorry._ ”

Dimly, he was aware he needed a plan. He needed to do _something_. He was a creature of momentum through and through, but he couldn’t find anything for his head to latch on to while his thoughts spun on in quiet disarray, trying to reconcile his life and the lies he lived and breathed to no avail.

So instead, head dizzy, chest aching, he sat at the abandoned campfire, and waited for the cold to sink in.

 

* * *

 

Caleb’s head felt like it was in a vice when he finally opened his eyes.

For a minute, he simply stayed on the ground, unmoving. It was well past noon now, his mind supplied, so he’d been sleeping for over twelve hours, but there was a very real temptation to just close his eyes again and shut out the troubles he was facing to be swallowed once more by the kindness of unconsciousness. Caleb could find some small respite in the fact that of all the things in the world he remembered in vivid, painful detail, his dreams were not among them.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford to close his eyes and shut out the world, not after yesterday. The fact he had been asleep so long meant one thing; the others had left. Only Nott would have let him sleep for so long, surely. He started to sit up from his spot on the ground. Had to keep moving.

“Oh, Caleb!” Nott’s voice cracked through the stillness of the early afternoon, “You’re finally awake.”

Caleb glanced over. Nott had her tinkering supplies out again, and she started at him somewhat expectantly, as she seemed to be putting the finishing touches on one of those trick crossbow bolts she had taken to creating lately. Her expression was… strangely placid.

Caleb sat up straight, unable to respond beyond a small grunt of knowledgement. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and instinctively reached out to his connection to Fumpkin, only to grasp at nothing. Right. He had planned to do that first thing in the morning, but seeing as he had already overslept so much, he doubted that he’d have the time. Not while Eodwulf and Astrid were still lurking somewhere nearby.

“Deuces and Fjord left a few hours ago to try to find their way back to the inn and grab our cart,” Nott continued, fastening various bits of a canister of the black powder onto a bolt. “Jester said that Caduceus messaged her they had managed to find it and were on their way back about an hour ago.”

Caleb froze. That did not sound right. That implied that the others were _still here_.

Caleb looked around their second impromptu campground of the night, and, sure enough, there they were, not too close but not too far away either. Jester was sitting down, her head tucked down into her journal, doodling away. Beauregard appeared to be trying to meditate once again, facing away from Caleb, but she kept twitching and moving like her seemingly endless reserve of energy was constantly in struggle to get out. Yasha was sharpening her blade absentmindedly, her eyes turned skyward, searching for storms among the partial cloudcover of an otherwise sunny day.

Had they all not been paying attention?

“Jessie!” Nott hollered from his side. “He’s awake!”

All three of the girls glanced in his directions with lingering stares, the weight of which were all far, far too much to bear and Caleb glanced back away. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jester putting her journal and art tools away.

Had they decided that Jester would be the one to tell him he was no longer welcome in the group? That seemed almost unnecessarily cruel, and more so to her than it was to him.

Caleb waited patiently, as Jester walked up to meet him, and sat down on the ground in front of him. He did not raise his head to greet her.

“Hello Caleb,” She said, her voice impossibly low, and gentle and so much more than he deserved.

“ _Hallo_ Jester,” He greeted back, his voice whisper quiet and papery. He could feel all of their eyes on him, like a crowd staring at a criminal at the gallows. Jester was silent for a few more moments, before she took a deep breath, and scooched forward suddenly.

“Caleb, I want to try to heal you.” She said.

Caleb’s mouth fell slack, and as he looked up at her, Jester’s features were pinched with determination, her eyes hard and unshakable, but not unkind. He suddenly felt unsure of the ground beneath him, and he shifted uncomfortably.

“Uh, Jester,” He swallowed thickly, “I am… I am fine. A little sore, perhaps, but, not so much so that It would require any sort of… magical assistance.”

“No, Caleb,” Jester shook her head, “I mean, I want to try to do to you, what that other lady did you while you were at the asylum. I want to cast _Remove Curse_ on you.”

Caleb gaped. Surly he misheard. That was utterly nonsensical. Why would she even want to do such a thing to him?

“Jester,” He shook his head, uncomprehending, “There are… there is nothing left to… remove.”

Jester pursed her lips, and squared her shoulders suddenly, Caleb tried not to flinch.

“You don’t know that!” Jester exclaimed, leaning in all bristles and intensity, her hands gripping hard and fast into her dress, “You said that the lady who cast it on you went crazy like two minutes later, so how are you supposed to know if she really did her job right and got rid of all the curses?! She definitely might have missed some, like that thing you do when you see people on fire, or maybe not, but this way you could know for _sure_ that all of your memories are real and not just something that shithead made you think was real!”

Caleb didn’t understand. He’d watched Jester cry as he recounted all of the horrible, unforgivable things he did, and now, she looked almost as though she was going to cry again. But this time it was over his well-being--no, not even, just for his peace of mind. Had she gone deaf when he said he burned his parents alive?

Why is it that when he laid bare all of his crimes to these people, all they seemed to think of was how he was hurting? It had been the same with Nott and Beauregard, and now Jester. How did he manage to convince them he was worth that?

Jester took a deep breath, letting go of her dress and glancing down at the ground. “If you _really_ don’t want me to Caleb, I won’t, but… I really, really think we should try.”

He could feel Nott’s stare burning a hole in his coat. He could see Yasha and Beauregard watching from a distance. Waiting for him to say something. It felt as though this had to be a trap of some sort; a cruel prank played at his expense. This was far, far more than he could possibly deserve, yet somehow he still found himself trusting it.

A odd buzzing filled his chest. Where had he found such _strange_ people?

“Alright.” He said with a nod, his eyes falling back to the ground, unable to handle how bright Jester seemed at the moment. Even still, he could feel the smile split across her face.

“Okay… I need your hand Caleb.” She said, and a blue hand, with freckled splotches of darker blue, an a number of rings along it’s fingers, slid into his field of view.

Numbly, he placed his hand in hers, and watched as another blue hand appeared, hovering just a few inches above his own. Jester took a deep breath, and began a prayer, her hand twisting into somatic gestures Caleb could never properly recognize from her divine magic, and in a stretch of time that seemed both far too long and impossibly short, dropped her other hand on top of his, and cast the spell.

Caleb felt a pulse of warm air, like a sudden change in direction of a warm wind, blow over him, shaking the frost that tried to seep into his bones... but, predictably, nothing happened. His head did not clear. His memories did not fracture and break. Everything remained as it was and how it should be.

Though, somehow, he felt better. Just a bit.

“... did it work?” Jester asked, tone hushed after a moment, with bated breath. Her hands stayed firmly on his. It took him a moment to realize she needed an answer.

“Oh, erhm, well, my memories are... the same, I think.” He paused awkwardly, his mouth hanging open and unable to grasp at the words that could hope to explain what he was feeling, when he didn’t even know himself. “But, for what it is worth, Jester, do believe I feel a bit better...? I… thank you, Jester.”

“Good.” Jester said, her hands squeezing his just a bit. “And you’re welcome Caleb.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mirabelle is 5 years of retail experience made manifest and is deeply theraputic to write.


	5. Sending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when Eodwulf joked that Bren defected to the krynn because the authors thought that was completely unlikely to ever happen in canon? Remember when the authors said they needed to do some scrambling to adjust after episode 48/9? hahahaha good times. 
> 
> Anyways, I'd like to point out that due to the nature of the flashbacks being all italiscized, I am gonna say that they exist in a linguistic quantum superposition of if they are speaking common or Zemnian to one another since Eodwulf, Astrid and Bren are all fluent in both by the time they get to soltryce. Any Zeminan present in them is just for the sake of clarification, also because Zemnian terms of endearment are cute.

_“Ugh, Gross,” Astrid said with a small gagging sound._

_Bren raised an eyebrow, casting a look towards the old, dry, stone fountain in which Astrid lounged. His cheek was still a bit warm where Eodwulf had pressed a lingering kiss not a moment sooner. She rolled her eyes dramatically in their direction, and continued making gagging noises. There she goes again._

_“Oh come on Astrid,” Eodwulf huffed, pulling just a bit away, to fold his arms together, “It’s just a kiss on the cheek.”_

_“It’s gross, is what it is,” Astrid said, shrugging and raising her arms up in proclamation, an odd gesture from her angle, with her back to the ground and head lolled over the edge of the fountain to look at them. “You’re stinking up the one decent place to hang out in the entire godsdamned school with your coupley crap.” Bren frowned._

_“The Library is an excellent place to relax,” he pointed out. Eodwulf snorted fondly. Despite the fact he was thankful they had found this secluded little area in the Academy’s botanical garden,  Bren couldn’t help but favor the school’s massive collection of tomes and the cozy, labyrinthine building that housed them. Though, the alcove in the garden, sheltered by golden-brown bushes of autumn was a fair bit more private. “Besides, Wulf is right, it’s just a little peck on the cheek, that’s nothing.”_

_“It’s coupley shit,” she insisted. “Which is_ super _gross to see you two doing now, I don’t know why I ever encouraged either of you on this.”_

 _“I_ don’t _wanna hear about how_ you _of all people thinks this is gross, Miss ‘Graphic descriptions of failed slobbery makeouts is suitable dinner conversation,’” Eodwulf said with a laugh, leaning in on Bren’s arm, and his head falling onto his shoulder._

_“That’s different!”_

_“Yeah, because it’s actually gross.”_

_“No it isn’t.”_

_“_ How?!”

 _“Because first of all, it’s not_ you two nerds _being all gross!”_

 _“That is_ not-- _”_

_Bren rolled his eyes, letting the sound of their toothless banter wash over him, familiar and fond. It was every day with these two, he swore, sometimes with the same bickering being shot back and forth as yesterday._

_Normally, he’d just let them keep going until one of them (Eodwulf) threw his hands up just shook their head and quit, but Astrid had been doing this for nearly a week now, and he and Eodwulf come up with an entertaining countermeasure he wanted to try again. The first time had been a massive success, but not every trick worked on Astrid Volkmaler twice._

_“Oh,_ Wulfie, _” he sighed heavily, placing a hand on Eodwulf’s cheek just as his boyfriend was about to shoot a retort back, and turned his head to face him. Eodwulf blinked in surprise, and Bren scooted closer, until he had Eodwulf’s space all tangled up in his own. “She has a point. We_ are _being all.. coupley.”_

_From the corner of his eye, he could see Astrid squint at them, but he kept his eyes on Eodwulf’s face, not looking at one place for long, but instead just letting them wander. He fluttered his eyelashes and watched the realization pull across Eodwulf’s face in a grin. His boyfriend’s arm slowly started to snake around his back._

_“Oh, Bren,” Eodwulf sighed, his eyes twinkling with mischief, and his voice filling up with a syrupy sweetness, “Schatzi, you’re right.”_

_“You motherfuckers,” he heard Astrid whisper from her seat in the fountain._

_“I’m just so excited to be able to kiss you after so long, Schatzchen.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of Bren’s nose lightly with an over exaggerated ‘mwah’ sound and Bren had to bite back laughter. “How can I resist when you look so cute all the time?”_

_“You’re doing this on_ purpose! _” Astrid whined, the gagging noises starting back up._

_“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Bren said, casting a look of mock shame Astrid’s way, “Schnucki, I think we’re making Astrid uncomfortable.”_

_“Oh, my Süßer, I think you might be right, but… how could I ever stop when you’re right there?”_

_“Gods, Stop!”_

_“Oh,” Bren leaned back and put a d hand to his forehead, pretending to swoon, “I love you, Bärchen.”_

_“You guys aren’t proving anything! This is just_ extra gross! _”_

_“More like Schmusebärchen!” Eodwulf exclaimed, leaning forward again and peppering Bren’s face with kiss after kiss all over, punctuating each one with a kissy sound as exaggerated as his first. The scant few whiskers Eodwulf stubbornly refused to shave in an effort to try to cultivate a beard tickling Bren’s face as the assault continued, and Bren bit his lip to keep the laughter in, but he could tell right away that was a losing battle._

_“Ugh! That’s just-- You two fucking suck!”_

_“Wulf!” Bren could only last a few seconds before the giggles started to burst out from his mouth. “That tickles!”_

__

_“Okay! Fine! Whatever, you two keep being_ fucking gross, _” Astrid announced suddenly, and Eodwulf backed away, though his kept his arms draped gently around Bren. Bren watched as Astrid hopped up from her lounging position in one easy motion. “I have a class to get to. If you’re still doing this shit when I get back, I’ll beat both your asses.”_

 _“You’re leaving the ring, Volkmaler,” Eodwulf pointed out smugly. “Disqualified.”_ _  
_

_Astrid’s only response was to shoot a glare between the two of them and flip them off as she disappeared into the bushes and walked away. Once she was gone, both Bren and Eodwulf broke back down into fits of giggles. His chest and head felt light as Eodwulf’s grip on him grew increasingly lazy and casual, like he was still most used to. As their laughter faded, a warm, gentle comforting silence started to take its place, the comfort is simply being together, somehow both entirely new and nostalgic and familiar to him. This… new relationship of theirs, built atop an old one, that made for comfortable shelter from the nip of the late autumn air, warm and like home, even as they pushed new boundaries and learned new things Bren had never thought he’d learn about each-other, day by day._

_“Perhaps that weapon is too powerful,” he mused after a time. “I’ve never seen Astrid so quick to retreat before.”_ _  
_ _“Eh,” Eodwulf said with a shrug. “She’ll get used to it eventually.”_

_“Will she?”_

_“Schatz, it’s Astrid,” Eodwulf shook his head, “If anyone would know if she would, it’s you.”_

_Bren felt his mouth tugging at the edges, and a fluttering sensation in his gut. “You did it again.”_

_Eodwulf’s expression flattened, and he quirked his head slightly to the side. Gods, and Eodwulf called_ him _cute._

_“You called me Schatz, even after Astrid had gone.” Bren clarified, “You did it before as well.”_

_“Oh. Um.” Eodwulf looked away, a blush starting to spread on his cheeks, and his hand pulling away to rub at the nape of his neck, sending his tied back hair flipping over his shoulder. “Well, I mean, it’s not like it’s… inaccurate? You’re… precious, and invaluable, and beautiful-- gods, I can call you that now, that’s so…” A lovestruck, shaky smile pulled his mouth tight for a second before he caught himself and shook his head, “Sorry, distracted. I guess, what I’m trying to say is, you are a treasure, Bren. To me.”_

_The tugging at Bren’s mouth spread to his chest, and he could feel his cheeks heat up. How Eodwulf could just say such things so plainly was beyond him._

_“Though, uh,” Eodwulf ducked his head down slightly, and Bren could see that old, scarred over self confidence buckling just a bit. “If you want me to, not call you that, I mean,”_

_“Of course you can Wulf,” he soothed, drawing in close to the other boy until their foreheads tapped together, and closed his eyes. “Though, I would not expect me to respond Schatz in public just yet…”_

_Eodwulf laughed lightly, but Bren could hear the small sigh of relief that he was trying to disguise beneath it. Eodwulf arms started to tighten back around him, though not uncomfortably so, rubbing a careful circle into Bren’s back as he did, pulling out tension Bren could scarcely realize had been there._

_“And well, Schatzchen is just…” Bren pulled a face._

_“Ugh, no, yeah, that one’s sticking to just bother Astrid, trust me,”  Eodwulf said with a snort. “Cute as you are, Bren, there’s nothing_ little _about you.”_

_A smirk crawled across Bren’s face. “... Wulf, we are in public...”_

_“Oh-- Come on, that is_ not _what I--” Eodwulf sputtered, and Bren couldn’t help but chuckle._

_“You just make it too easy.” Bren shook his head slightly, before he leaned in and pressed their lips together in a sweet, slow kiss. The novelty hadn’t faded quiet yet, nor has the slight way Eodwulf still in surprise when their lips meet. New, but not brand new anymore, though no less exciting. Their lips, slowly but surely slotted into the places that they’ve found them to be most comfortable over the past weeks, and he could feel how Eodwulf was trying to keep himself from breaking the kiss to smile as the hand at his back stills and lays flat to push Bren just a little bit closer, to meld together into a single space._

_Then, Eodwulf started to recline back, tugging Bren along with him, but just as Bren began to shift his weight off the small raised ledge of the brick planter, Eodwulf jerked suddenly, and his arms tightened in surprise. He made a startled noise into Bren’s mouth, and fell off the edge of the planter, taking bren with him as they flopped down gracelessly to the ground Bren halfway on top of Eodwulf, and their teeth smashed together with a click._

_The pair yelped and swore, Bren pulling away and bringing a hand to his mouth as his gums started to throb. He pressed a finger to his teeth and gums, checking for chips and the sticky sensation of blood, but found nothing. He glanced down at Eodwulf, who was doing the same, until he caught Bren’s eyes for an instant and looked away, shamefaced._

_“Ah, sorry,” Eodwulf muttered._

_“Well,” Bren sighed, picking himself up. “Now you know what kissing Astrid felt like.”_

_“Ugh, gods,” Eodwulf groaned, rubbing at the back of his head with a wince. “At least she left before I managed to do that. I’d never know peace again if she knew.”_

_“I mean, I might tell her.”_

_“Bren!”_

_“I’m just kidding,” Bren said with a laugh, extending a hand to the other boy, “Probably.”_  
  
_Eodwulf shot Bren a tried, lopsided smile, took his hand, and together, they got him back on his feet, just as always, and in spite of recent changes, Bren was confident it was just as they always would be._

 

* * *

 

Nott was the one who broke the shocked reverie Caleb had somehow fallen into after Jester had cast _Remove Curse_ , just staring, only half comprehending, at his hand as Jester continued to hold it in place.

“Well that’s good, right?” She spoke up, sending a jolt of realization thundering through Caleb’s body, compounded with a sudden lurch of guilt in his gut. Like a soupy black ichor spilled into his chest, dousing the difficult to define feeling in his chest and turning it soupy and thick as a simple, all too easily forgotten thought returned to the forefront of his mind: he did not deserve this.

In the moment, he tugged his hand away from Jester’s. Absentmindedly, he noted the lingering warmth on his hand had a distinctly different feel from the warmth of the fire that curled between his fingers. It was foolish and unimportant.

Instead, he shot a look at Nott, who was giving her best crooked smile of jutting teeth, trying to encourage him, no doubt. He nodded slightly and whispered a nearly muted “ _Ja._ ”

Her expression brightened and he had to look away.

He… he needed to figure out what he was doing. He had expected that to be much more clear cut, considering the events of last night. But now apparently Caduceus and Fjord had gone to go fetch the carts-- to bring them back to their makeshift camp, he could assume, but to what end he could only guess. The correct decision would have been to leave him right away, not… sit about a campground waiting to cast curse removal on him as he slept.

At a minimum they should have woken him sooner. Gotten a chance to gain more ground. They did not know where Eodwulf could have gone, or if Astrid was searching for them in the woods as well. He did not know _how_ Eodwulf had managed to locate them in such short order in the first place. Divination was never his strong suit, and his amulet protected himself at least. Divination was not Astrids forte either, but perhaps she had managed to get a good enough look at the others… but then why had she not come with him? Eodwulf surely must have learned about them from her.

While Eodwulf had left without any sort of real fight, that did not equate to benevolence or a mercy to Caleb. He very well could have simply deigned to retreat after his… strategy, desperation play, _whatever that was,_ had failed. Caleb pursed his lips tight, and the taste of ash bubbled at the base of his throat like vomit. He shook his head slightly and swallowed it down.

If Fjord and Caduceus had given word to Jester that they were on their way back an hour ago, it could be quite a while until their return, assuming that they departed at dawn, or at least near it. He could… do little but wait. For whatever reason, the others seemed to not wish to part ways with him just yet. They would have had more than enough of a chance to while he slept in. Caleb wasn’t sure what to make of that. He had no idea what to make of anything. He was lost in a tangle of different directions and all of them felt like the wrong way to run.

The least he could do was set up an _Alarm_ spell so if Eodwulf and Astrid returned they would have forewarning… His head felt a bit more settled than it had been last night, or even moments ago, he was confident he could cast such a basic ritual. Just when he was about to reach into his coat for his spellbook and silver thread, he abruptly realized that Jester was still staring at him, and froze.

“Ah,” He fumbled with his words immediately, as Jester continued to stare expectantly at him her hands now laced delicately in her lap--a look he had become quite familiar with over the past few months. Jester had _questions._ He grit his teeth and made an uncomfortable expression, looking anywhere but Jester’s face. He did not feel very prepared for a conversation. He had spoken a great deal last night, like wringing water from a stone out of sheer necessity and a sense of obligation to tell these people the truth, but it was _exhausting_. Even now, after hours of rest, the sparse words he had shared with Jester felt exhausting. But what right did he have to postpone this conversation after everything he had put them through, especially her?

“Caleb,” She spoke, her voice too low and gentle for him, “Are you okay?”

Absolutely not. He hunched his shoulders, and his mouth opened uselessly.

“Jester, I don’t think--” Nott started to say, placating and ever-patient for him. But Jester suddenly Straightened up to the tail tip

“Oh! That’s right!” Jester said “You probably want to bring Frumpkin back first don’t you?”

… Well, yes. That was... An option now, he supposed. He didn’t quite expect her to offer him the chance to do that before she got to say whatever it was that was on her mind. He would amit this conversation would probably be less one sided if he had Frumpkin back. He nodded, paused for a moment, and pulled his Silver thread out from his coat pocket first, displaying it, and hoping they would understand. The more time he had before this conversation, the better. He wondered if he could also select his spells to the day to buy a little more time.

“Oh that’s a good idea, Caleb!” Nott exclaimed, trying a bit too hard to be encouraging. Caleb ducked his head.

“No, yeah, definitely!” Jester agreed. “what with like Astrid and Eodwulf being around”--Caleb flinched and his teeth ground against each other--“and stuff and we didn’t see Eodwulf coming last time, and…” She trailed off, her eyes lingering on Caleb for a moment, and her energy tempered. “It’s a very good idea Caleb. You should do your alarm thingy first, then do Frumpkin. I can wait!”

Caleb stared at her, trying to read her smile. It was a little worried here and there, a little forced, but that was unfortunately nothing he hadn’t seen worse a worse case of before. He glanced at Nott, her huge eyes wide and expectant, but her hands wrung together in that way they always did when she had something on her mind. Too far away to read their expressions, he could see Beau and Yasha offering cursory glances his way, like guards watching a prisoner.

This was not a dismissal. This was being granted an extension. Whatever it was, Caleb would gladly take it, because that was simply the kind of man he was.

He gave Jester a little nod, pulled out his spellbook, and set to work.

Arcane words always felt much easier to him than language. There was something different to the shape of it. In most cases, even when his words failed him and his throat closed up with fear and loathing, he could rattle on incantations for hours at a time. The words just flowed from his mouth as if it was second nature, like breathing. He twined the silver thread along his fingers tight, looping and weaving it between his fingers as the ritual started to take hold, and continued his chant, standing up and ambling into the wood.

Nott followed at three paces behind him at all times as he set down the limits of _Alarm,_ keeping a lookout as he was distracted by his ritual. At one point, he glanced at where Beauregard was watching him, and she offered him a slight nod. His chest twisted.

Shuffling around the brush, placing his thread in an exacting shape, which slanted slightly towards where the forest was more dense and they were less likely to see anyone coming, he wove in an exception for the girls, Fjord, Caduceus, and the horses. In the end, with daylight streaming into the winter-bare wood, he did not believe the _Alarm_ spell would be particularly useful for the moment. At least if Eodwulf tried to return unseen via magic he would be able to hear it coming. It was something, at any rate. It did little to quell the pit in his stomach, but it was something, and it was somewhat calming to cast.

By the time he had finished the spell, he looked back to find Jester had returned to working in her journal, still in the same spot he had left her in. A small part of him wanted to sit away from her-- to avoid, avoid, avoid the mess of confusion and conversation that was bound to happen with her soon. But he couldn’t avoid it for long anyways, and Nott’s supplies were still littering the ground where she left them anyways. Belaboring it was pointless, and frankly, something Eodwulf would probably do.

As he sat back down near, but not quite as close to Jester as before, he couldn’t help but catch a glance of the latest additions to her Journal. On her new page, was a rough, but startlingly accurate drawing of Eodwulf. Below that was a second drawing of Eodwulf, far mode crude than the one above, that appeared to be saying “I am a dick.” But with a little picture of a dick rather than the word.

A startled, weak sound escaped his mouth, half exhale to the sudden tightness that seized his chest, half laugh, but he looked away before Jester could face him. He could feel her stare, so he turned slightly as he searched his pockets for the fine incense, charcoal, and small brass brazier he needed for the spell to call Frumpkin back, and set his spellbook down. Setting the incense and charcoal aflame in the brazier, he began the incantation for _Find Familiar._ He again reached out via his connection to Frumpkin, but instead grasped at the weave, pulling it down like a sheet by the fistful, and focusing it into the Brazier, he lifted his hands, and was met with the sensation of a thousand featherlight threads of magic caressing his fingers.

Caleb closed his eyes, and shut out the world around him. Easier to work that way. He twisted his hands into the somatic components of the spell, and with them, the threads of the weave were pulled along, trembling in his hands in time with his incantation, each arcane word sending a tremble of vibration along the strands of the weave, like ripples on the surface of water. In his mind, he once again called out to his connection to Frumpkin, and this time, got a twinkle of a response. Frumpkin was ready to begin, and so Caleb let the words and motions continue to flow out of him, twisting and churning the Weave into a doorway and vessel for his fine Fey friend.

The smell of the incense, a faint honeysuckle and elderberry smoke, filled his lungs as the minutes slipped by, each careful step of the ritual second nature at this point. Taking the time to tug on his Connection every minute to draw Frumpkin closer and closer. He thought back, to when he was young, to the _first_ Frumpkin. How she looked in the winter with her bulkier coat on the quiet indoor days of Horisal, snoozing on the table, her nose twitching just slightly, as Bren reached a finger out to scratch behind her ear. He held the picture fast in his mind, made one minor change, making it a tomcat as Frumpkin prefered, and held the spell at the brink of completion, as he reached into his pocket, where he kept just a small sprig of catnip, and tossed it into the Brazier.

There was _tug_ at the back of his mind and the space before him, and a familiar weight dropped lightly into his lap, and his connection to Frumpkin sparked back to life. A sigh tumbled out of Caleb’s mouth as a small fraction of wholeness returned to him. He offered Frumpkin a greeting via their connection, alongside a personal request for some purring.

Frumpkin gladly reciprocated, and even butted his head up against Caleb’s hand with a chirp for good measure. Along their connection, Frumpkin expressed relief, happiness, readiness. Caleb scratched him behind the ear with one finger, and dug his other hand into the fur of frumpkin’s back, letting the soft fur side between his fingers as he gave his favorite boy some well deserved scratches.

He glanced around, half expecting that in the time that it had taken him to cast his spell the others would have fled, but no such thing. Caduceus and Fjord were still gone, no surprises, and Yasha and Beau had moved a bit closer to him in the time it took him to cast his spell, Beau chewing on old jerky, and Yasha looking through that personal book of her’s. Nott was packing up her alchemical supplies, whatever her experiments were seemed to be successful, judging by how her ears were perked so high. Which only left...

“Caaaayleb…”

Jester. He kept his eyes firmly down at the familiar pattern of Frumpkin’s fur. From the periphery of his vision, Jester scooted in closer to him, but still kept a respectable distance. He was not surprised, considering what she now knew. In spite of her earlier kindness he did not doubt that she was still, if perhaps insufficiently, disgusted by him now.

“Are you feeling a little better now?” She asked, her voice painfully light and soft.

Caleb swallowed. His throat did not tighten and strain as it often did when words became too much of a struggle for him, only a growing sick sensation in his chest and gut remained, though that was not enough to steal him away to silence.

“I have Frumpkin,” Caleb answered, his voice sounding like wind being blown between bare branches of winter.

Jester craned her neck to look at Frumpkin. “He looks a bit fluffier than usual.”

“That would be his winter coat.”

Caleb didn’t need to look up from Frumpkin to know that the attention of the camp had fallen squarely back on to him. He took a long, but quiet breath, trying to brace himself for Jester’s next question.

“So, Caleb… I thought you said that _Astrid_ was the one you dated.” Jester said, her tone somewhere lost between gently accusatory and nosy meddler. He noticed Nott’s ear swivel blatantly to to face them.

Caleb grimaced. He thought that was an... odd place to start considering everything _else_ that had been said in the past day. He would personally start with how he had been using these people as a smokescreen to protect himself for the past few months, or how he very well could have gotten them all branded as traitors and dissidents. Murdering his mother and father. But he could see how that little misleading tidbit of information now required clarification.

“I did.” Caleb said with a slow nod.

“But, you didn’t.”

“That’s…” Caleb sighed heavily, his his head bowing briefly. His chest felt tight, but his throat was still clear. “Jester, what I said was not untrue, exactly. Astrid and I, ah… we did date. Briefly. When we were younger; before the Academy. But it was… it was not for us.”

“But you told me she was perfect for you.” Jester said in this confused, just shy of hurt tone that made his hand go still in Frumpkin’s fur.

“She was,” Caleb swallowed, “Just, as a friend. She, uh… _we_ understood one another, back then. In a way that not many ever tried to understand.”

“Oh. So then,” Jester paused, and from the corner of his eye he could see her tangling her fingers together, “Why didn’t you say anything about _Eodwulf_?”

“You had already heard Astrid’s name.” He shrugged a shoulder limply. “It was just easier.”

“But _he_ was the one who you were talking about last night, right?” Jester leaned in, and for the first time since the conversation began Caleb’s eyes briefly left Frumpkin’s back as she moved, but dared not lift his eyes to see her face. “He was the one that you feel in love with.”

Something like defeat curled in Caleb’s chest like smoke. His expression fell flat and his chest tightened a little once more before he forced out a flat “ _Ja._ ”.

“And you two _did_ date, right?”

“... I feel as though that is implied.”

“Yeah, well, you _implied_ you were in love with Astrid, so I have to make sure!” Said Jester with a huff, like she was dealing with an especially stupid child that was trying her patience.

Caleb winced, and ducked his head. “We were romantically involved, yes.”

“Was it for a long time, or was it for a short time, like Astrid?”

“A long time.” Caleb rasped, his eyes drooping down, pulled down by memories he tried to not relive, of lazy afternoons, quiet evenings, stolen moments. Easy laughter, gentle touch, and love that felt antique even to him. “We were steady for about a year and a half.”

Jester was quiet for a moment, but then she scooted eve closer, barely an arm’s length away. Nott had dropped the pretense of eavesdropping and had approached the conversation openly, though she remained quiet, Caleb could imagine her eyes darting back and forth between them, as she wrung her hands together. Beau and Yasha kept their distance, but he could feel their stares like an anchor tied around his chest, locking him in place.

“Was he always like that?”

Caleb lifted his head slightly to look at Jester. Her expression was oddly patient and attentive which-- Caleb didn’t know what to do with that. This whole conversation already felt unwieldy in his hands. At least if she had been condemning him for any of the number of wrongs he had committed he would know how to respond. There was no script to follow in this conversation, no mapped out avenues of actions and words. Instead, he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “What do you mean?”

“Weeeell,” Jester grimaced slightly for just a moment, “I mean he sort of like, didn’t listen to you or anything at first, and like tried to lock us all in a box, and kept acting like you didn’t know what you were talking about and you needed to go back to the asylum when you don’t, and just kinda being a dick? I could get him being kind of a dick to the rest of us because like, he doesn’t know how super-awesome we are, but… He shouldn’t be acting like that towards you.”

Her voice dropped down a half step, quieter and the usual mischief in her tone disappeared before she continued. “You should _always_ try to listen to the people that you love.”

Caleb stared at her blankly for a few more seconds, before a startled, breath of laughter barely made its way up his throat which he covered by clearing his throat. He could feel his chest squeezing in that strangely familiar-unfamiliar way it tended to do increasingly when he was the target of one of his friend’s unwarranted displays of affection. It was strangely light. A hand moved to brush across his mouth to seal the rest of the startled bubble laughter that echoed up from some sourceless corner inside him, like the purring from Frumpkin on his lap. He decided to filled the air with words before his slip up could be noticed.

“No,” He said, his voice strangely crackled along the edges, even for him, “Not always. Believe it or not, I used to think he was a very good listener.”

“Really?”

“ _Ja..._ Though he was a bit of a dick.”

“How much of one?”

Caleb held up a hand, pinching his thumb and index finger together with just a inch of space between them.

Jester stared at his hand for a moment before a devilish grin curled across her face, and she waggled her eyebrows at him. “Now is that an _accurate_ measurement, Caleb?”

Caleb pursed his lips, and let his arm fall back limply to his side. Jester giggled to herself. He had to admit, he had walked right into that one. Even Frumpkin’s steady purrs had taken on a slight chuff to them, almost like laughter.

“He was not like that with me, though.” Caleb continued, his eyes falling back to the ground. “It was not until our advanced training began that he began to be… like that. He could always be a bit avoidant, but before then he would never… _ignore_ me. Certainly not to the extent you all saw.” His had fell still, buried in Frumpkin’s warm fur. “I had always meant to talk to him about it, but, well…”

Silence lapsed between them. Jester knew how that story ended now. Nott took the silence as an opportunity to approach, offering Frumpkin a little scratch as she lingered around his space, before she settled down a few feet away from him, on the opposite side from Jester. He appreciated it.

“Hey, Caleb?” Beau spoke up abruptly, and he looked up again to see her staring off into the woods, arms crossed, “No offense, but I’m a little pissed off that you were the only one who got to punch him.”

Caleb stared blankly at her. He had thought they were all still in the prison Eodwulf had made for them when that happened.

After a moment of silence, she glanced over, shifting uncomfortably. “Just saying,” she grunted.

“It _was_ pretty weird watching you punch someone.” Nott mused.

“Your follow through wasn’t bad.” Yasha spoke up, slowly pantomiming a punch with her right arm Caleb’s way. “But… you have to put your whole back into it. Move _with_ the momentum.”

“Yeah!” Jester nodded vigorously, “and always remember not to tuck your thumb into your hand or you’ll _probably_ just break your thumb.”

“Ooh, yeah,” Nott hissed in sympathy, “That would make somatic spells _suck_ to cast...”

Caleb coughed into his hand, and tugged the collar of his coat up awkwardly, glancing away from the girls. “Uh, _ja,_ I think I will leave the punching to Beauregard from now on. I just… let the moment get the better of me.”

“He called you something, didn’t he?” Jester asked, “He started saying your other name and then changed it to something else and you got all weird and yelled it back at him when you punched him, like ‘shutz’ or something…”

“No…” Nott started to say, a finger tapping on her chin, “I think it was more like--”

“ _Schatz_.” Caleb interrupted, before the conversation could spiral like they often did between the two of them.

“ _That’s_ it.”

“What does it mean?” Yasha asked, tilting her head back and furrowing her brow.

“... Treasure.” Caleb said as he recalled the temperate autumn day that Eodwulf had asked if it was okay to call him that, and felt a small, rueful tug at the corner of his mouth, and scattering of varying emotions in his chest, like sparks flying off flint on stone.

“Aww,” Jester cooed, “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

“Is it?” Beau asked, an eyebrow raised. “Seems kinda fuckin’ weird to me.”

“It was not what I had expected him to call me.” Caleb sighed, and asked Frumpkin to climb up his arm and drape himself along his shoulders. With some half hearted reluctance, Frumpkin obliged, and in seconds was draping himself around Caleb’s neck like a scarf. “Not after all the time the time it would have been for him. I never expected him to still…”

Caleb trailed off. He didn’t know what he had expected of Eodwulf. He had spent a lot of time trying _not_ to think about what would have happened if Eodwulf and Astrid ever found him again, but he hadn’t expected a warm welcome. Even if they were just as guilty of the same crimes he was, he found it hard to believe that they would care for him. At least Astrid’s response to him made sense. Eodwulf’s almost felt like it had to be a trick.

But, thinking back on the events of the night before, Eodwulf seemed troublingly sincere. Caleb wouldn’t be surprised if Eodwulf had simply become an even more skilled liar than before, but had that been the case, Caleb found it hard to believe that only a few harsh words would be enough to make him leave… Astrid certainly would have told him the scene she had walked in on. They had executed others for far less damning hearsay. Eodwulf would be _expected_ to arrest him, and yet…

That pained expression as the reality of the situation started to sink in for Eodwulf, the way his expression fell, the defeated last glance his way, that made it feel far too real. Too much like he had been let go. Too much like heartbreak.

“Love you.” Nott completed suddenly, jarring Caleb from his thoughts as he snapped his head up to meet her face. She had that look again-- one of far too much empathy and sadness and understanding for someone who claimed to be so young, made him _doubt_. “You didn’t think he would still love you.”

Sometimes it felt frightening how quickly Nott had come to understand him in such a short period of time. How quickly she could cut the chaff, peel apart the wrappings and grime he used to disguise his scars and face, and see the truth he buried below his skin. Caleb looked away, his teeth clicking shut in a tight grimace, but this was a mistake. All it managed to do was make his eyes skim the wrinkles of sympathy on the faces of the others as they started to form, smothering him with something so wholly undeserved.

Caleb swallowed thickly, his words caught like ash in his mouth. “I don’t--”

 _“Bren”_ A voice-- _Eodwulf’s_ voice, spoke from the back of his mind. His skull rattled minutely as an arcane force, not terribly dissimilar from the sensation of _Message_ being cast on him, pulsed though his mind and drew forth a mental image of the man as he left from the night before. His chest felt suddenly hollow as he jerked slightly, his back going stiff and freezing, staring off into the woods at nothing.

“Caleb?” Nott asked again. He paid her no mind, eyes darting from side to side, scanning the trees for any sign of the man to no avail.

“Caleb what--” Jester started to say, but he blocked her out as Eodwulf’s voice picked up again.

 _“I’m at the Knave’s Goblet Inn, south of Kamordah.”_ Eodwulf’s voice continued, and all breath fled from Caleb’s lungs in an instant, ice lancing through his gut like daggers. That was the name of the Inn they had left the cart. Before he had time to fully process that, Eodwulf continued.

 _“And I… I had_ Remove Curse _cast on me.”_

The ice percolating in his gut came to a sudden halt, and Caleb’s expression went slack. He _what?_

 _“I want to talk._ ” Only now, did he realized how _horrible_ Eodwulf’s voice sounded. Thick and raspy, and coming out far too slow, like he was choosing his words far too carefully when he didn’t know what to say. _“Bitte, Es--”_

Eodwulf’s voice cut off abruptly in his mind, just as the man’s voice was beginning to break, and the magic faded from his head. A small hand grabbed him by the shoulder, sending a jolt through his body.

“Caleb!” Nott squawked in his ear. “Caleb, are you alright?”

Caleb glanced around once more, The girls all turned to face him more directly. Yasha’s hand slowly hovard towards her sword as her eyes darted around for an enemy that wasn’t there. Beau looked about read to spring up to her feet, but her intense glare was aimed solely at Caleb, trying to pull answers from his expression. Jester looked like she was about to reach out and grab his hand once more.

“I--” Caleb started to say, feeling the slight vibration of arcane energy carry his voice to a place far away, and a hand flew up to cover his mouth, jostling Frumpkin slightly. _Scheiße._ The spell must be the one Jester uses. He raised his other hand and held up one shaking finger to the rest of them as he waited for the spell to end completely, breathing heavily through his nose.

He caught a collection of strange looks from the girls, but they did seem to relax some small amount. He had to think. Where were Fjord and Caduceus? It had been maybe two and a half hours since they had said they got their carts. If Eodwulf had them in his posession then surely he would have mentioned them in his message. If he had caught them while they were there, then why wait so long to contact him? They must have just barely missed one another… He hoped.

He felt the connection made by the spell break, and he moved his hand away from his mouth.

“Caleb are you okay?” Jester asked, “you look like, _really_ pale. Do you need me to--”

“No, uh, no, Jester.” Caleb shook his head, feeling breathless, “That is unnecessary.”

Beau tilted her head to the side, before she asked “What happened? You looked real fuckin’ freaked out there Caleb. Like, almost as bad as when you roast someone.”

“Beau!” Jester scolded.

“What?” She turned, giving Jester a wide-eyed, almost offended look. “Well he does!”

“It was Eodwulf.” Caleb said, his voice tight and the world swaying and shifting as everything started to shift in his head. Eodwulf had _Remove Curse_ cast on him, just as Caleb asked. Or so he claimed. “I think he cast that spell you use to speak with people over great distances, Jester”

“He talked to you?” Nott asked, shuffling closer. Caleb nodded. His hand automatically rose back up to stroke Frumpkin’s fur, to soothe him from the ruffled feeling that was overtaking him. “Well, what’d he say?”

“He…” The words caught in his throat, still not quite believing them. “He said he had _Remove Curse_ cast on him, and that he wanted to talk. In person.”

A hush fell back over the camp, as uncertain looks were exchanged between everyone, and the gears in Caleb’s mind continued to spin.

Eodwulf knew the truth. While Caleb would not put it below him to lie about such a thing to try to lure Caleb out, the way he sounded in the spell was-- genuinely distraught. It was hard to say without seeing Eodwulf in front of him-- but even at his best when working with Ikithon he probably could not have pulled off such a genuine sounding desperation. Not for Bren. He had known him far too well.

 _If_ Eodwulf knew the truth then-- What did that mean? Caleb could only assume that his whole world would have just been turned on his head. The place he once called home and the man who he must still respect finally unmasked to show the _rot_ below the surface. Could he really just leave Eodwulf to the wolves?

Yasha made a small, uncertain noise, her hand falling back to her side and the tension gradually unwinding from her shoulders. “Where is he?”

Caleb stared at her a moment before he shook his head. Right. They had more important things now. He needed to be sure Caduceus and Fjord were safe. Just because Eodwulf did not mention anything did not mean it could not be the case. He could be interrogating them. Torturing them.

“Jester, could you-- could you cast _Sending_ on--”

“Aha! There they are!” Fjord’s voice split across the campground, and all five head snapped to stare in the direction it came from, as some horses started to round a thicket of trees, and slowly clop into view. There was no way in hell they were going to be able to maneuver the cart all the way into the camp. “Told ya it was this way.”

Caleb heard Caduceus say something unintelligible in return, and watched the cart come to a slow plodding stop, and moments later, Fjord and Caduceus started approaching the Camp. Fjord’s gaze fell on Caleb, and his expression shifted as he sauntered into the camp.

“You’re awake.” Fjord commented, his his expression twisting apprehensively. “That’s… good.”

Caduceus, a few steps behind him, tilted his head as he looked across the camp. That man could find a copper in a field of wheat. Of course he could tell something was amiss.

“Well,” Fjord frowned, pointedly looking away from Caleb, “Inn was a sonofabitch to find. We’re lucky we actually only ended up a little bit away from a field that leads to the main road or this probably would have taken a heckuva lot longer. Anyways, What’s our next move?”

No one said anything. Nott turned to give him an uncomfortable wide-eyed look.

“What happened?” Caduceus asked, his expression more curious than anything, and Fjord frowned, casting a quick glance at Caduceus, before turning his attention back to the group, puzzled.

Caleb, quite desperately, felt like he could go for another twelve hour nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, fair warning, next update is PROBABLY gonna be a while because this is my last year of college and I have been procrastinating on my thesis like a baller, but its due like........ in a month. So. Probably not gonna have a lot of time to work on the fic in the internim. Thank you for the patience and all of your support!
> 
> Oh, and one last thing! Katt made a big post on tumblr on how we set about designing Astrid and Eodwulf for this fic, including some early concept art! Check it out here if you wanna find out more about our two hot messes: http://blatherkatt.tumblr.com/post/183703343659/i-just-started-reading-your-blumenthal-kids


	6. Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! Thank yall for your patience and all your support. 
> 
> Now for your daily dose of emotionally tormented Wizards, now with 9% more found family.
> 
>  
> 
> (And also some alcoholism in this chapter. That's a thing that's happening. Eodwulf Dieschafer is a disaster of a human being.)

_Blumenthal was about as busy as it ever got today, early summer bringing out the most of the daylight without the scouring heat to dampen people’s work ethic just yet. Villagers set about, doing their various chores and jobs, tanning, curing, smoking, mending and weaving. It was no Renewal Festival, Highsummer, or Harvest Close, but their little township was bustling with activity in spite of its small size._

_Eodwulf frowned, squinting in the early afternoon light as he wandered along the edges of where the town was most concentrated, where the craftsmen and market were, scanning for signs of Bren and Astrid in the daily hustle. Eodwulf had already checked all their usual places to hang out while they waited for him to finish his daily chores around the farm, and all of them had been empty. He had even checked the Ermendrud house, and the Volkmaler family’s inn to see if they were seeking refuge there, but Brens mom and Astrid’s parents were just as clueless as Eodwulf was. Normally, the clamor of of midday meant his two friends kept their distance, but they could be tempted in from time to time if a traveling merchant was passing through on the way to Rexxentrum-- Bren could never pass up the chance to see if they had any books, especially books for magical study, rare as they were._

_Today seemed to be especially loud. He could hear signs of commotion coming from closer into the center of town, shouting and a louder than usual chorus of chickens crowing in a panic. He glanced up as a chicken fluttered just over the rooftops in a tizzy, a cat yowled, and he heard a few distant swears in both Zemnian and Common alike. Eodwulf tilted his head to the side._

_“What in the…?” He mumbled to himself, peering down an alley towards the center of town. A number of chickens were running wild, and some people seemed to be staring dumbfounded while others scrambled to catch them. His nose wrinkled. That didn’t look fun._

_“Psst! Wulf!” An all too familiar voice called from behind him in a loud whisper. Eodwulf blinked and turned to see Bren and Astrid both wide-eyed and panicked, Bren half hidden behind house beside him, and Astrid barely peeking an eye out around the corner, both of them filthy with hay and debris. “Wulf, we need an alibi!”_

_Eodwulf opened his mouth to ask why, but then glanced back at the commotion in the town square, and noticed the chicken feather stuck in Astrid’s hair. His shoulder slumped, and he glanced around quickly to make sure no one was watching as he joined them._

_“Okay,” Eodwulf said with a sigh, giving them both a once over, guilt reflecting in their wide eyes, covered in evidence, and pursed his lips. “I can’t leave the two of you alone at all, can I?”_

_“Wulf!” Bren pleaded again, his eyes darting from side to side and his teeth clenched. It was a terrible expression for such a wonderfully bright face._

_“Okay, okay, hold still, lemme get rid of some of this…” Eodwulf muttered, moving into Bren’s space and picking the bits of hay from his hair first. “Did anyone see you?”_

_“I don’t think so…” Bren muttered, his eyes on the ground, and expression still cloudy. “We got out pretty quick.”_

_After Eodwulf had collected a small handful of hay, he glanced down at his own shirt, and pressed the hay onto his clothes, spreading it around with the palm of his hand until it stick fast to the fabric. He had_ just _finished wiping all the dirt and debris from his chores off his clothes, too… At least they all looked dirty now. He glanced at Astrid, who honestly didn’t look much more dirty than she usually did, even with the hay sticking out of her hair. For her, he just quickly plucked the feather from her hair and pocketed it._

_“Okay,” Eodwulf nodded, “I have an idea. But stop hiding like that! It’s just gonna make you guys look suspicious, or more suspicious anyways. Who’s idea was this anyways?”_

_“It wasn’t_ supposed _to be like_ this, _” Astrid piped up, shuffling away from the wall._

_“Thing went, um.” Bren wrung his hands together. “Bad.”_

_“Yeah, I figured.” Eodwulf rolled his eyes, tugging on Bren’s sleeve. “Now c’mon, we should be--well,_ you _should be pretending to be onlookers.”_

_“But--!” Astrid tried to protest._

_“It’d be weird if we weren’t trying to see what was going on too!” Eodwulf interrupted, leading Bren by the sleeve, who looked like he was about to be sick. “And like, try to look curious instead of scared? If anyone asks you were helping me with chores when--”_

_“OI!” Another voice shouted, and Eodwulf schooled his face to neutral and he turned to face--_ Great _, Mr. Habsburg. The wiry old man pointed a crooked finger their way and he pulled away from the chaos in the center of the town, his expression thunderous and egg on his face-- literally. “You three! I bet it was one of you again, wasn’t it-- you girl, you--”_

_“What?” Eodwulf spoke up, sounding convincingly mistified. “What happened, what’s going on?”_

_Mr. Habsburg scoffed. “Like ye don’t know? I bet that fuckin’ she-menace did this!” His beady eyes narrowed on Astrid, who, unfortunately, did not do a great job of looking not-guilty. He could feel Bren’s arm straighten as he held onto his sleeve._

_“Did what?” Eodwulf furrowed his brow, making a convincing attempt to look over Mr. Habsburg’s shoulder to try to get a look at the goings on._

_“My fuckin’ chickens is what!” Mr. Habsburg snapped. “Over half the coop frightened half to death in a frenzy and busted the door open!”_

_“Oh.” Eodwulf shot a lost look to Bren and Astrid, who thankfully were wide eyed enough that they could pass for convincingly surprised and confused. “I-I mean. I’m sorry to hear that sir, but Astrid couldn’t have done that, we just heard the commotion and went to go see what was going on.”_

_Mr. Habsburg’s head snapped to glare at Eodwulf, his nostrils flaring. “Likely fuckin’ story. And I suppose she just_ happens _to be covered in hay?”_

_“But,” Eodwulf glanced down at his shirt, a small, confused look on his face, and brushed some of the newly applied hay off. “We’re all covered in hay, sir?”_

_“Oh yeah?” Mr. Habsburg folded his arms his eye glaring over all of them for the first time, as though it was the first moment he considered that Astrid might not be the only one at fault. Eodwulf could feel his gut twisting and heating. “Why’s that then?”_

_Eodwulf looked down, and grabbed his arm self-consciously. “Um, well. One of the sheep, you see sir, I let it get out into the fields where the hay was curing, and I couldn’t catch it on my own, so Bren and Astrid helped me, cause my brothers were already done with their chores today, and um…”_

_He glanced back up at Mr. Habsburg, who’s sour expression seemed to twitch with frustration, and quickly bowed his head again, flinching, and blurted: “Please don’t tell my dad!”_

_A few moments passed, staring at the ground, waiting for the moment to break. If Astrid and Bren had been seen he’d probably get in trouble too now, but whatever. He heard a rough sigh overhead and glanced up, as Mr. Habsburg’s posture broke, and he glanced back at the ongoing chaos. “Don’t got fuckin’ time for this shit.” He grumbled, turning on his heels. “Just stay the fuck outta my way till we got this shit sorted out, ya hear me? Or I will tell yer father!”_

_“Y-yes sir! Thank you!” Eodwulf called back as the man picked up his pace into a jog as he returned into the scrambling in the town’s center. Eodwulf let his shoulders slump. “Asshole.” He muttered under his breath._

_He felt a familiar weight appear as Bren put his hand on his shoulder and let out a shaky sigh, giving him a small squeeze. “Thank you, Wulf.”_

_Eodwulf shrugged easily, ignoring the quick swirl of butterflies in his stomach. “Anytime.”_

_“I dunno how the hell you do that so easily all the time…” Astrid muttered, appearing at his other side._

_“I get more than enough practice thanks to you guys,” Eodwulf sighed, shaking his head fondly._

_“But, um, Wulf,” Bren moved just a bit ahead of Eodwulf, his brow furrowed, and his teeth still grit just a bit as he glanced furtively at Mr. Habsburg’s way. “What if he_ does _tell your dad?”_

_“Mom and Dad won’t care what I did as long as the sheep are all accounted for at the end of the day.” Eodwulf deadpanned, glancing away from the general direction of his father’s stall in the market. “But whatever. What were you guys doing anyways?”_

_Astrid and Bren winced, sharing a quick look. Astrid spoke first. “Well… First of all, I blame Bren’s butterfingers.”_

_“Hey!” Bren protested._

_Eodwulf snorted, shuffling as he turned around, and the three of them made their way from the scene of the crime, scott free for now._

* * *

With the supplies of their cart back on hand, Caduceus insisted they eat first, which Caleb could, if begrudgingly, hardly refuse. It had been nearly a full day since he had last eaten, and he had vomited up what remained of his dinner last night, but Caleb found himself waiting without an appetite. He decided to take some time to study his spells, prepare for the day ahead, and… hopefully clear Eodwulf’s ragged voice from his head.

Reading always managed to help when his nerves were frayed; even when it was the overly familiar arcane formulas of spells. If anything, that was even more calming. It made him at least feel a little more prepared for the messy unknowns of the day, and like he could answer future problems at hand. It was something.

At the very least, he felt like _Counterspell_ and _Dispel Magic_ would be mandatory until further notice, and he was fortunate enough that many of his spells that were well-suited to survival had rituals. _Wall of Fire_ had been their saving grace last night with Astrid… But _Polymorph_ could be far more versatile…  Frumpkin dismounted from his shoulder and instead curled up just on the periphery of his vision.

He was flipping through the page which contained the formula for _Banishment_ , another option, when Beauregard plopped down next to him. She had been watching him like a hawk ever since he had woken up, though he had no idea as to why--she had known, after all. His stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“Sup.” She greeted, and Caleb frowned, unblinking.

“... _Ein moment,”_ Caleb muttered.

To his surprise, Beauregard actually gave him a moment to study the finer details of his arcane formulas, remaining silent at his side. When he lifted his head, he caught her rolling her eyes.

“You read more than a fuckin’ Librarian.” She grumbled. Caleb blinked at her, unsure of what to make of the observation. She looked him up and down, like one might expect a prison guard to stare at an inmate, but then, strangely, her expression softened. Had it been anyone else, it would have still looked unfriendly.

Uncertainty further turning his gut into a knot, Caleb looked back down at his spellbook, pretending to gloss over the words. He heard Beau sigh loudly.

“What are you gonna do Caleb?” She asked, exasperated, but not unkind.

“I am not entirely sure.” He closed his spellbook carefully, and took a deep breath, though it felt like it did little to fill his lungs. “There is… a lot to consider. Eodwulf is crafty. Dangerous. It is probably a bad idea to trust his word, but…”

Caleb trailed off. The simple 25 word message sent to him continued to rattle around his head, especially as he lapsed into Zemnian and his voice began to break just as the spell broke off. _Bitte es--, Bitte es--, Bitte es--!_ Caleb glanced back up to Beauregard, realizing he had gone silent and she was still staring. He ducked his head once more and cleared his throat, straightening.

“There is a lot to consider.” He repeated. “Especially with my standing in the group being… uncertain as it is.”

“Wait,” Beauregard commanded. Caleb could practically feel her narrowing his eyes at him. “What are you talking about, Caleb?”

“I do not know if the others will still have me.” Caleb glanced over at where the others were congregating around Caduceus as he cooked. “Considering everything that has happened, and, ah, what they now know. Last night I had expected it would be my last among you.”

“... Do you still think that?” Beauregard asked, leaning down, and dipping her head in an effort to catch his eye. He did not have it in him to oblige.  

Caleb pursed his lips. “Things have gotten complicated, since then.” He admitted, scratching at his arm. “ _More_ complicated.”

He couldn’t bring himself to leave as he should. No matter the appeal of running, he knew that it was too late for that on multiple fronts. The best he could hope for was that Astrid had not gotten a good enough look at them all in the din of the cave to put a price on the others' heads. He was damned no matter what, but perhaps the others could avoid the same fate if they just moved on without him. _That_ was the choice which was best for the group, but even in knowing that he found himself too cowardly take the the first step.

“... You know, last night.”  Beauregard said after a time, lifting her head back up, having given up on any attempt at eye contact. “When you fucked off to the edge of the campsite and Nott went with you, I stuck around with the others, since, you know, I’ve known about this shit for a while now, and when you told me it wasn’t as much of an issue that had to be talked about. Figured I should probably try and keep the conversation, like, reasonable or something. But mostly, I thought that, maybe they wouldn’t get it.”

Caleb turned his head slightly, to stare at her out of the corner of his eye, words jumbling in his mouth inadequately behind teeth, begging the question ‘ _what’s not to get?’._ Beauregard caught his eye for a just a moment, before she continued.

“I’ve seen what…the pursuit of loyalty and honor to the Empire can do to otherwise not entirely shit people. But _they_ haven’t. Fjord and Jester are from the coast, Yasha’s from Xhorhas, and Caduceus was raised in some sort of...temple-graveyard-thing. None of them know what it’s like to grow up with all the…” Caleb watched Beauregard’s knuckles go white as she rubbed a hand across her face roughly. “The _constant_ background noise about how ‘great’ the Empire is, and how it _fucks_ with people’s head until they think that prestige is all that matters. It’s fuckin’ inescapable, unless you like, get into criminal shit like I did when I was a kid.”

“Beauregard, that is _not--_ ” Caleb tried to interrupt, but was forced to take a deep breath, the air tasting sour in his chest, and shook his head. “The skill of the propagandists of the Empire do not _matter_. It does not excuse what I did.”

“It’s not an _excuse,_ ” Beauregard agreed mildly, “but it’s context. My point is, last night, after you walked away, I was sort of…getting prepared to defend you, right? I felt like anyone else was gonna give you shit without all the information, or tell them that you’d told me about it a few months back when you really didn’t have to, and I could have told them all at any time if I wanted to be a fuckin’ asshole about it. But, as things turned out, I didn’t have to.”

Caleb knit his brow together, turning to face Beauregard properly. She fixed him with an inquiring look, an eyebrow raised, her eyes sharp and impossible to meet, thought not unkind, just searching.

Caleb’s mouth fell open uselessly, unsure of what to say or even how to interpret…this. Beauregard took it as a sign to continue.

“They were upset, yeah, but no one said anything about not wanting you around anymore. Even Fjord, who’s like, weirdly pissed for some reason?” Beauregard shot a brief, uncertain look Fjord way before concluding with a shrug. “But I don’t think anyone here blames you as much as you think they should.”

Caleb’s eyes fell back to the ground, guilt twisting molten hot in his gut. A hand clapped down on his shoulder roughly, and he jolted back to face Beauregard’s searching eyes.

“So.” She said, tilting her chin up as she did. “You still unsure about your position in the group?”

He forced himself to meet her eyes, if only briefly, and found nothing but honesty. Thought their time together felt somehow both impossibly brief and painstakingly long, one thing Caleb was certain of about Beauregard was that she did not deal in pretty words and gentle lies.

“No,” Caleb admitted, his eyes drifting back down from hers. “I. Thank you, Beauregard. You have given me...additional factors to consider.”

Beauregard frowned, as though that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “What do you _want_ to do, Caleb?”

Caleb couldn’t suppress the soft snort of bitter frustration that pushed its way from his lungs at her question. What he _wanted_ hadn’t been clear to him since he was a child. Ever since he had been awakened in the asylum nearly six years ago, he had only ever pursued the vaguest of wants--a desperate need to fix, to amend, to repair, to hide away, leaving trails of failure in his wake, just a mad attempt to build something worthwhile out of ashes. There was a lot of things he wanted, many of which he didn’t deserve, and he could never narrow down into a single answer, because the enormity of what he had done was impossible to match.

The answer would have once been so simple. He wanted to run. He was scared. He was _terrified_. This was the nightmare that had haunted him for half a decade, right in front of him. But it wasn’t just about _him_ anymore. That was the problem with friends; you had to care about them.

And unfortunately, that included both Eodwulf and the Mighty Nein.

“I don’t know what I want,” Caleb admitted sardonically, his lip curling in a mockery of a tight lipped smile. He paused, looking back up at the others, huddled around the pot where Caduceus cooked, and thought of Eodwulf, his desperation from last night, his willingness to concede, and the sound of his voice from earlier, and his expression faded. “But there are things that I know I do not want to happen.”

“... That’s one hell of a non-answer but, like, alright, whatever,” Beau groused, crossing her arms in front of her chest and rolled her eyes. “Cool.”

Caleb sighed, wiping a hand over his face tiredly. “Beauregard, I will have to explain myself in a moment to the group regardless. Is there something specific you want to know?”

Beauregard eyed him dubiously, but slowly uncrossed her arms, and nodded at him. “You plan on running?” She asked.

“By myself?”

She nodded once more, and Caleb shook his head, lacing his fingers together in his lap, and stared down at them.

“I am afraid the time where that was a viable option has passed.” He tightened the grip of his hands against one another. “In more ways than one.”

Beauregard remained quiet beside him for a time, nearly a minute, before he heard her shift, and from the corner of his eye, watched her stand.

“Alright,” Beau said, “Caduceus looks like he’s almost done, so.”

“I will join in a moment,” Caleb said around the thick feeling in his throat, like choking on smoke, and watched Beau return to the group. He asked Frumpkin to return to his shoulder, and when not a moment later the cat hopped back on with a chirp, he reopened his spellbook to finish his daily preparations.

* * *

 

“Jester I’m _positive_ ,” Fjord insisted, “I didn’t see any sign that he was in the inn. We left that place at about noon. I got a pretty good look at him last night; only other fella in there was a halfling who seemed to be getting ready to head out on his own.”

Jester’s shoulders fell slightly, her tail lashing behind her.

Caleb was mercifully allowed to finish his stew while they sat around the cooking caldron to discuss what was to come. Though the food was not of any lower quality than Caduceus’ normal meals, Caleb found it flavorless, and difficult to keep down regardless. But he needed to eat, perhaps the most of anyone. It was not a terribly unfamiliar feeling from the one the night before, though this one was lacking in the same overwhelming sense of finality turning him numb. Instead, he just needed to swallow around a thick chain of dread that reached up around his throat.

Nott, at his side, gave a narrow-eyed look Fjord’s way. “Well, okay that’s great, but, Caduceus, _you_ pay attention, was Eodwulf at the inn?”

Fjord lifted a hand up at her, and made an offended noise. He could barely see the twitch of a smile on Nott’s mouth. To his other side, Beau snorted.

“Not that I could see,” Caduceus replied thoughtfully, scratching his chin. “The inn seemed pretty empty by the time we showed up. Don’t think I heard anyone in the rooms above us either, at least.”

“Lucky,” Yasha said with a frown, “you missed him.”

Caleb glanced down at his nearly emptied bowl, and considered against the sensation pushing against the back of his throat. He doubted that he could hold down another spoonful. What he had would have to be enough.

“Must’ve been like ships in the night," Fjord agreed, still glaring at Nott.

Caleb placed the bowl down and and an uncertain hum rasped along his throat.

He felt the way Fjord’s glare shifted to him most keenly, Beauregard’s words rumbling in the back of his mind, as everyone perked up to the sound of his voice. The sudden return of attention sent an uncomfortable itch crawling up his arms.

“Eodwulf was a very skilled illusionist, even when we were children. Going undetected by others was something of a specialty, um.” Caleb swallowed thickly, his hand drifting up to where his amulet hid underneath his shirt, brushing a finger against it. “But that is--that is less of what I am concerned with. What I am more concerned about is the possibility that he may have used the opportunity to hide himself, and gotten a very detailed look at the two of you.”

“We disguised ourselves,” Fjord replied flatly. “It’s why the two of us went, since we can do that without much of a fuss.”

“Ah. Well.” Caleb nodded minutely in Fjord’s direction. “That is good, at least.”

“Why are you most concerned about him seeing us?” Caduceus asked, tilted his head to the side. “I think he already would have had the chance to do so last night, if he is as good at hiding as you say he is.”

Caleb grit his teeth. He did not think of that possibility. He had assumed that Eodwulf would be tunnel visioned on him just as Astrid had been, and while he did move to get Caleb first, he might have taken the time to move about the camp invisibly to get a closer look at his friends, in which case, they were all well and truly damned. They would be wanted, hunted just as he had been, though they didn’t have same tools to protect themselves as he did.

“Was that one of the things you mentioned earlier?” Beauregard asked, “Something you didn’t want to happen?”

Caleb nodded. Silence rung around the camp, ever patient.

“What else didn’t you want?” Nott asked gently, dipping her head to catch his eye. He let her, briefly, before he blinked his eyes shut and lifted his head with a shaky breath. He felt himself sway, like a pile of plates stacked too high and rattled too much, threatening to fall and crash. He placed a hand on Beauregard’s shoulder to steady himself, not daring to look at her.

“I am afraid,” Caleb said, his voice still so slight when it shouldn’t be. “I am afraid that, in being seen with me, and in fighting alongside me as you were, you have all condemned yourselves to the same type of fate that I had. That you all have made yourselves into the enemy of the Empire, and the Cerberus Assembly, especially... And that would be my fault.”

“I mean, we were already _kind of_ in trouble?” Jester said with a grimace. “There were a _lot_ of dead Crownsguard.”

“No,” Caleb shook his head. “Not like this. You may have been detained, or questioned, or something, but Astrid is--was never without reason. The situation was bad, yes, but the Krynn were involved. You could have explained yourselves, or even lied, but my being there escalated the situation to its worst possible outcome.”

“That could have been any of us that escalated the situation. She seemed pretty ready to come to blows as soon as she arrived,” Caduceus pointed out calmly. Caleb caught Yasha nodding in agreement with a small shrug of her shoulder.

“Perhaps,” he ceded, “but we will never know, and I just hope that--I can _only_ hope that she did not get a good enough look at all of you to place bounties on your heads, or--” His word jammed in this throat, and he used his free hand to tug his amulet out from under his shirt before he began again. “This protects me from divination magic, but I only have the one, and I cannot say the same of all of you. As of right now, I _still_ do not know how Eodwulf found us last night, but divination is the first thing I could think of.”

A brief, uncomfortable silence hung over them all. A number of looks, uncertain to scared, were exchanged. Caleb took the quiet as a sign to continue, as he stashed his amulet back under his shirt.

“I do not wish any harm to come to any of you. But, I am sure that the people of the assembly would be glad to kill me, and I fear what they might do to all of you, either as means to get to me, or because they now view all of you as threats yourselves.” Caleb bit his lip, and turned to face Beauregard, squeezing her shoulder “And I know what you said, Beauregard, but, I want you to all to understand the danger that being allied with me places you all in.”

Beauregard studied his face, her often severe expression unusually placid, and with a sigh of defeat, placed her hand over his. “Caleb, we all understand that the Assembly is some real fucked up shit to be stuck in, or whatever. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to make you deal with your shit on your own, man. I mean, we became fuckin’ pirates for Fjord. Pretty sure that says something about the level of dedication we’ve got for each other here. Leaving you behind was never gonna be an option. I think so, at least.”

Caleb pursed his lips together, looking about the campground. To his frustration, the others seemed to all either nod or smile in agreement, in their own little ways-- save for Fjord, who merely ducked his head and glanced away as Caleb’s eyes moved over him, his expression tight. It was the only reasonable expression there, though he didn’t seem to raise any complaint, either. Caleb could feel his chest tightening and his face warming, as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Aw, Beau,” Jester cooed, “That’s really sweet.”

“I mean,” Beau sniffed, and shrugged. “I dunno, I’m just saying.”

“You know Caleb, I know I agreed to follow you if you felt like you needed to leave,” Nott spoke, idly toying with her flask stopper, “but I didn’t really think we were going anywhere.”

Caleb stared at her for a moment, feeling rattled once again. He pulled his hand from Beauregard’s shoulder with a quick glance in her direction, and she let him lift his hand away without resistance. He ducked his head, and cleared his throat thickly.

“Ehm. Well. _Danke._ All of you,” Caleb muttered towards his coat, and then lifted his head once more. “But um, if that is to be the case, I would suggest we make our leave sooner rather than later--away from Kamordah.” He paused and gave a slight glance Beauregard’s way, hating his words. “I am sorry Beauregard, but I do not think that you can safely check in on your hometown at this point.”

Beau frowned, eyeing him oddly, and opened her mouth slightly as if to say something, but was cut off by Nott.

“Wait,” She said, her face scrunched in confusion, “what about Eodwulf?”

Caleb shoved down the pangs of sentimentality and sympathy that tried to press their way to his chest. “What about him?”

“His message,” she said with a nod. “About having his fake memories removed.”

“That…” Caleb pressed his lips closed, trying to ignore the tugging ‘what if’ feeling at the back of his mind. He had…priorities. He couldn’t risk them all over some decades-old tug on his heartstrings, no matter how quickly the thought of leaving his call unanswered scorched his throat dry. “Nott, he is a very dangerous man. You saw what Astrid could do, and Eodwulf must have kept pace with her with his own studies in the past years. Look at how quickly he was able to capture all of you.”

“We _did_ get out, you know?” Beau grumbled.

“And in that time that took, I have no doubt Eodwulf could have easily incapacitated me if he put his mind to it.”

“But he didn’t!” Nott protested. “Caleb, he seemed _very_ worried about you, even if he was sort of terrible about it. He even did what you asked him to do.”

Caleb clenched his fist closed and pressed it up to his mouth, breathing through his nose for just a moment. “That does not change the fact that he is a _danger,_ Nott. I may be an exception because of our history together, but you must _trust me_ when I say that Eodwulf would gladly kill any of you without hesitation if he found it expedient to do so. That is what he--what _we_ were trained to do.”

“Wait, but... if he had his fake memories removed, wouldn’t he be on our side?” Jester said with a furrowed brow. “I mean, he would know that Trent tricked him into killing his parents, and then like, definitely wouldn’t want to work for him anymore, right?”

Caleb shot Jester a desperate, wide eyed look with a grimace, and swallowed thickly. He could still vividly remember the slight distance in Eodwulf’s eyes after he had completed his graduation test. The grim line of his mouth, the utter acceptance of and resignation to their deaths in his face and voice...as well as the tremble in his balled fists and the tension in his neck. Straddling a line between unquenched anger and dispassionate contempt like it was natural. What became of that since that night? He pushed the memory away, and looked down.

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Well, then... wouldn't you want to go see him?” Jester asked, her tail dipping low, and wrung her hands together lightly. “Or... are you like, still mad that he said all those shitty things to you?”

“What? No, that’s not--” Caleb shook his head. “What I _want_ does not matter in the first place, Jester.”

The others exchanged all variety of doubting looks at him, save for Fjord, who simply narrowed his eyes, a curious expression on his face that Caleb couldn’t quite read. He squirmed in his place, feeling a little too dressed down. “What?” He asked.

“I dunno,” Beau said, with a doubtful expression and _tsk_ , “Kinda sounds like you do.”

“I did not say that.”

“You really didn’t have to,” Nott muttered into her flask before she took a quick swig.

Caleb cast a disbelieving look across all of them. “I cannot ask all of you to throw yourselves into the lion's den, when he could very well be lying in wait with a trap, on which--if I had to guess--would include both him _and_ Astrid. It’s suicide.”

“You think he was lying about having _Remove Curse_ cast on himself?” Caduceus asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Caleb pursed his lips and glanced away. “I believe that it would be a good way to bait a trap.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” Caduceus said placidly.

Caleb ground his teeth together until his ears rung, but kept his lips pursed shut, letting a few moments pass as his frustration simmered down. “I do not know him anymore. What I do know, is this is _exactly_ the kind of strategy I would expect him to use against us. It is practically his specialty.” He let some of the tension he had built up escape with a near silent sigh. “Which is why I cannot afford to take that chance with all of you.”

“He specialty?” Yasha asked. “Do you mean… for your training, or...?”

 _“..._ For our training, _ja_. He would… He...” Caleb trailed off, his words caught like hot tar in his throat. He had never spoken of the specifics of his training before. Those times were...better left condemned to the darkest corners of his mind, where they would only rarely surface to serve as a vivid, painful reminder of what awaited him were he ever to be found by the Assembly. But, if Eodwulf was serious about trying to get to him, then one way or another, they would likely run into him again, and the more they knew the type of person Eodwulf was trained to be, the better they might handle it.

“Eodwulf Dieshafer is a shyster,” Caleb stressed, his eyes falling to the ground, as the memories he had tried for years to think about the least came forth just as easily as those that had happened yesterday. “Back then, when we were training with that man in Rexxentrum, he would... Eodwulf did not impress with his aptitude for illusory magic alone.”

“It was his silver tongue...” he continued (and remembered their interrogation room, the single chair dressed with blood and bindings, the trick glass Trent used to observe, and the strange confidence that Eodwulf built within it. One he himself could sometimes match but never surpass), “the way he would draw people in with lies, and his ability to spin tall tales until prisoners spilled their guts to him without him so much as needing to bloody his hands, that M-- that he was most praised for.”

(Caleb remembered the smile, not unkind, but not gentle like it once was, that Eodwulf would flash his way after a job well done. He thought nothing of it at the time; he was in love, and they were working towards the same end. There was nothing to think about.)

“And when he truly set his mind to something,” Caleb wrung his hands together and swallowed thickly (and remembered the odd look on Eodwulf’s face when he asked Trent if he could try something a bit different for the interrogation, the calculation, the glint of malicious intent), “he could step into any role presented to him like--Like ah...slipping on a mask, and becoming a different person.”

(He remembered how Eodwulf had kept his head low, scrubbing the floor, his hands trembling to steal sympathy and secrets.)

“An abused servant boy.”

(He remembered the times Eodwulf would feign hesitance at the door, hand clutching his arm and pulling his silhouette in tight as he glanced back at their prisoner with scared eyes and bit his lip, and how it faded like morning mist in the sunrise as the door closed.)

“A terrified young wizard who didn’t want to be there.”

(He remembered the tilt of Eodwulf’s head, as he tapped a fake signet ring and his voice dripped with presumed authority in borrowed finery to coerce and twist the truth to make a signature on a death warrant seem like a brilliant idea of their prisoner’s design.)

“A nobleman’s son, once…” Caleb blinked, and shook his head to scatter the memories away, staring at his friend faces around him for a moment before looking back down, shame melting over him. “He would lure people in with his deceptions and stories that, had I not known better, I might have believed myself. He would string them along until he had what he wanted, and then drop the act just to slit their throats. So, it is not a matter of if I believe he is lying, it is that _if_ he is, we would not know until it is too late.”

He let his words sink in.

“Alright,” Nott said, shrugging slightly. “But, _do_ you want to go see him?”

Caleb's shoulders slumped. He buried his face in his hands, and sealed his mouth tight, words rattling wildly behind his teeth. Had they listened to him at _all?_

“Caleb. we know it’s dangerous, you didn’t really have to tell us that.” He heard Nott sigh beside him, a tiny hand pressed to his sleeve, before she continued.  “We know a lot of things are dangerous, but we usually wind up doing them anyways, and, to me, it sounds like you _do_ want to go see him, even though you keep saying it’s a bad idea, or it’s a trap, or he might be lying. If that’s not the case, then... Fine. That’s fine, it’s your decision, but, I don’t want you making a choice you’ll regret just because you think you have to.”

Caleb despised the resurgence of sympathy and concern that tried to claw its way back up into his chest as he screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head just slightly. What he _wanted_ was so inconsequential in the bigger picture, it hadn’t mattered in years compared to simple survival.

“Caleb, um,” Yasha interjected softly. “If… you know, you didn’t have to worry about any of the dangerous parts of this, like... how you could be killed, or us get killed, or consequences... and even if you weren’t really sure he was being truthful, would you still want to believe in him?”

“That’s not--” He started to say, but as he lifted his head to look at her, the words died in his throat when he saw the gently prying look on her face. A mixture of empathy and cautious certainty, like his answer was they last verse of a chorus to a song she knew too well. It knocked the fight from his lungs and gave the opening needed for everything he was trying to force down to flood in. A stupid, sentimental, selfish want, that pushed its way to his mouth like vomit and bile.

“Of course I would,” Caleb said weakly, his voice somehow thin in strength and thick in tone. “To me, he sounded...genuine. Of course I _want_ to believe he was telling the truth and, I would, but…I have not seen him while I was in my right mind in some sixteen _years_. He has had a very long time to change, or even just to practice his bluffs. I cannot just assume that what sounded genuine then is still genuine now.”

“So you _do_ want to help him,” Jester said, her face pinched with sympathy.

“...Yes,” Caleb admitted with a slight nod. “Of course I do. I recall how it was like for me when my memories were removed, and it was… _overwhelming_ in the worst of ways, and from my perspective I had--I had only just done it yesterday. He has had _years_ to try to come to terms with he has done, and I don’t know if that is for the better or for worse now that he might know the truth. But as I said, what I want is irrelevant; this not about just _me._ All of you are involved, and I will...” Caleb grasped a fistful of air tightly. “I will defer to the group.”

“Mr. Caleb, I believe the group is deferring to _you_ on this one,” Caduceus said with a nod and a knowing smile. “Or what you want, at least.”

Murmurs of agreement spread around his friend’s faces with nods, all save for Fjord, who quite understandably wouldn’t look Caleb in the eye.

Caleb wrenched his eyes shut tight, and took a deep breath through his nose. His friends were going to drive him mad. “I cannot ask that you all risk yourselves like that for me. It is selfish, and stupid, and liable to get you all killed. Perhaps if it was _just_ me--”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“ _Absolutely_ not.”

“Dude, if this shit _is_ a trap you’d be fucked on your own.”

“Caleb, No!”

“Yeah, that’s not really…”

Caleb threw his hands up in the air as everyone immediately rushed to interrupt him at the same time, creating a clamor in the camp. Nott and Jester actually jumped to their feet as they shouted, and Caleb let out a frustrated sigh.

“Caleb,” Fjord spoke, finally, Caleb forcing himself to meet the other man’s eyes, unblinking. “You remember what I said in Deshilla’s lair?”

Caleb’s throat went dry, but he swallowed it. Phantom pain slid across his hand. “I remember everything.”

Fjord nodded. “Well, back then, I’ll admit, I wasn’t entirely sure what I had gotten myself into, but I was more than happy to, considering all the accommodations y'all made for me, and everything you _personally_ did to make sure we got back to land safe from Avantika. I made a promise to you, that when a time came that you would need help doing things that needed doing, I’d offer the same help you did for me. That’s a promise that I intend to keep. If going to go see Eodwulf is something that you want to do, then I’m in.”

Caleb balked, glancing around at the others, half puzzled looks, half understanding. Caleb ignored them, and returned his eyes to Fjord’s. “Fjord, this is not-- this is not the type of problem I had in mind when we…” Caleb trailed off.

A flash of annoyance flickered across Fjord’s face, but he did away with it with a small nod and a shrug. “Even still. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I think that this is a problem you need some help on. So I’ll be providing, even if that means giving you a little push.”

“I…” Caleb floundered. He made several attempts at an answer, but this was…too unexpected for words to flow.

“You know,” Beau cut in, “we don’t need to like, actually go to the inn? We could just check the place out.”

“Yeah, case the place,” Nott agreed.

“Yeah, Caleb, we could be like, really really careful about it!” Jester beamed. “It was different before, since he and Astrid caught us off guard, but we’re _really_ good at stealth, so if anything, we could get the jump on _him,_ and be like: ‘Eodwulf we came to get you, unless you were lying in which case we’re gonna fuck you up!’”

For the first time today, Caleb saw a smile tug on Fjord’s expression as he glanced Jester’s way, but it did not leave his face when he turned back to Caleb. “You know, speaking from experience…The Mighty Nein doesn’t scare so easily, just cause something is selfish, stupid, or liable to get ‘em all killed.”

Caleb felt a sudden and overwhelming rush of affection pierce his chest, and broke from Fjord’s gaze just slightly. “I suppose we are not…Very well, then. Let’s go see if my ex wants to kill us.”

“Wait,” Fjord recoiled suddenly, blinking hard. “Your _what?”_

Caleb stared at him. The camp went quiet.

“ _Fjord!”_ Jester scolded, smacking him on the arm with her tail.

“What?” Fjord asked, her, his eyes darting back and forth to everyone else’s faces, and only then it seemed to dawn on him. “Wait, you and him were…?”

“Oh, gods,” Beau muttered, laughing into her hand and turning away. Nott’s ears perked in delight, laughing openly.

Caleb frowned at him. “I thought that was extremely obvious by this point, was it not clear?”

“Oh, no,” Caduceus shook his head. “It seemed pretty obvious to me.”

“I mean in the moment, a little, but…” Yasha said with a nod.

“Fjord, he called Caleb _Treasure!_ ” Jester all but shouted.

Fjord groaned, covering his face with his hand as his cheeks seemed to darken just a bit. Caleb couldn’t help but snort, covering his mouth and hopefully the small rush of heat to his face to match Fjord’s. Even as his gut coiled in anticipation for whatever happened at the inn, his chest felt lighter than it had in days.

* * *

 

Eodwulf waited.

He waited for the ringing echo of the only word that Bren had spared for him-- “ _I_ \--”come to end in his mind as the spell faded without resolution, and for the all too familiar, bilious, choking sensation to claw its way to his throat to nest. The hollow feeling in his chest seemed to swell, sending more fissures cracking though his body, as turmoil oozed fresh from the new break, boiling and spitting, and hissing against the frigid void, ugly and unwanted but increasingly impossible to ignore.

Numb in all the wrong places--his hands and chest, instead of his head--he slowly gripped the dingy tankard and brought it to his mouth to gulp down the amber brew. It tasted like shit and went down like tar, burning the back of his throat, but it was the best hope he had for drowning everything that tried to push through the cracks.

He drained the tankard, and set it back down on the stained and scratched, dark wood of the bar he loomed over in his stool, swallowing air to keep the ale down. For a moment, the chaos receded, and he reminded himself to just--just not think about it. Not now. He just needed to take a deep breath and calm down--let the feelings cool, fossilize, and be forgotten.

He took a deep breath, shuddering and insufficient. Willing the intrusive thoughts away. Before he could even exhale, a thought split across his mind like the match sparked to life in the pitch of a coal mine--Bren probably hated him now.

“ _Schieße!”_ Eodwulf threw his fists down at the bar with a resonant slam, sending stinging pain shooting up his arms for an instant as the rough counter failed to splinter under his hands. Not an instant later his hands flew back up to dig into his hair, pulling roughly across his skin. He grabbed fistsfuls of hair at his hairline until his scalp burned in protest, but he did not let go. _“Verdammt noch mal!_ Fuck!”

He breath came out in heaving pants now. The thin veneer the first drink provided couldn’t ever hope to quell the caldron of ichorous loathing that boiled just under the icy numbness of shock. Freshly-scorched  _fake_ memories replayed in his mind again and again, his parent’s bodies and the look on Bren’s face that night-- both the night before now and the night they did their supposed fucking duty. Too-familiar vacancy and the pained contempt of recognition. And the look on Trent’s fucking _face_. He trusted him, he trusted him, he _fucking trusted him!_

Bile collected back in Eodwulf’s throat that he swallowed down _hard_ because he was _not_ going to set back the process of making himself forget--for just a while. He needed to drink, and drink, and drink, and he wasn’t going to stop until he drowned the memories under a familiar sea of haze and liquor and they couldn’t find him to torment him anymore.

“Um…?” A creaky, thin voice called to him, and Eodwulf’s head snapped over to see the owner of the crappy little inn he’d dumped his last platinums into buying the privacy of, his head poking out of the back storeroom. He had told Eodwulf his name at some point, but he couldn’t care less. He looked like a startled blonde deer. “Is everything--”

“I didn’t pay you for counseling,” Eodwulf snarled, dropping his hands back onto the counter, grabbed the upturned tankard, and slammed it back down onto the bar upside down. “Just refill my drink. In fact, you know what? Fill up a second one too. The fact I’m sitting here in this shithole without liquor moving down my throat is a fucking disgrace.”

The man blinked, taken aback, and then his expression changed into a transparently thin, painted on expression. “Very well. Do you need some food to go along with that?”

“Did I ask for food?”

“... No.”

“Well then.” Eodwulf smiled thinly at the man. “Seems clear to me.”

The man nodded at Eodwulf once, and stepped out of the back room completely to where Eodwulf stood, and grabbed his tankard to refill it, his movement suddenly crisp and unhappy. Eodwulf’s face fell back down to staring at the scarred wood, rolling his eyes. He’d already paid the man his ten platinums for the four days of privacy in the Inn. An absurd upcharge for a place with only four rooms to begin with, but Eodwulf could hardly care. It was the first place he found after stumbling around in the fucking woods for gods knows how many hours in the early morning.

If he hadn’t already stashed his Assembly clothing in some hollow tree a bit of a ways away, he was sure the man would have quite the tale to tell. An Assembly wizard throwing a tantrum in his droll little inn? Trent would have a conniption.

Eodwulf dug his fingernails into the wood and grit his teeth, the steam and tar beginning to billow out of the cracks again, just in time for the bartender to return with his tankard.

“Here you--” He started to say, but as soon as it was within arms length, Eodwulf pulled it from the man’s hands and began to drink until his throat started to burn again, and his nose stung, and set the tankard back down with less than half of what it had arrived with. It was still cheap and watered down shit, but it was a start. He glanced back up at the bartender, who was just standing there--slack-jawed and gobsmacked, staring.

“I believe,” Eodwulf said, reaching into his hair and with a swift tug, yanked out his hair tie and letting his hair fall out flat against his back, limp and messy, “I asked for two.”

The bartender pursed his lips, but turned back around to grab his second tankard. Eodwulf glared at his back for just a moment, before he turned back down to stare into the ale. Bren’s voice ran through his head again, taunting, asking him why he was still here.

Unable to answer, he raised the rim of the tankard to his lips, familiar and automatic, and tried to drown out the voices and memories with his own voice, chanting and desperate.

_Don’t think about it._

_Don’t think about it._

_Don’t think about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry Fjord it only took you 4 entire chapters.


	7. Antipathy/Sympathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This took longer than expected. Sorry, the Authors got all caught up in setting up a DnD campeign of their own and that sorta took over our lives for a little bit there uh...
> 
> On the upside, this is the longest chapter to date, and Astrid's finally back outside of a flashback, kind of! Enjoy!

_Eodwulf stared blankly, his fingers curled apprehensively along the rough wood of the fence between them, and opened his mouth without sound. The rustle of the late-summer fields around them stifled the silence he made in place of his words. Bren patiently stared back, his book on his lap, the small smile on his face and his sharp blue eyes glancing just over Eodwulf’s shoulder rather than at him…_

_Eodwulf looked over his shoulder, to see if Bren had just been addressing someone else, but no one was there. It was just the two of them, the fence between them, the whistling wind and whispering wheat around them. Even still, Eodwulf jerked a hand up, shaky and numb, to point at his chest, bewildered. Bren’s eyes followed the movement of his hand, and his smile twitched a bit down into a confused frown._

_“Well, yeah…?” Bren tilted his head curiously. “No one else is around, right? And even if they were, you looked interested in my book, and so… did you want to read it?”_

_“I’m not very good at Common.” The words tumbled out of Eodwulf’s mouth without thought, and immediately wished he had said literally_ anything _else._

_“Oh.”_

_Eodwulf bit his lip, and looked down, a chill moving into his gut in spite of the warmth of the summer breeze. Of course he would ruin Bren talking to him for the first time_ ever _. Now Bren probably thought he must be a total idiot, and maybe he wasn’t, but compared to Bren he might as well be, and he’d probably never want to even try to be friends with him for even a little while until he realized how painfully plain Eodwulf was, and Eodwulf would never know what Bren did right that he did so wrong, and--!_

_“Well, um, I could help you?”_

_Eodwulf lifted his head back up, to stare back at Bren, who had returned his gaze down to the book, but shot a quick glance Eodwulf’s way after his question, as if to make sure he was still there._

_“I mean, I’ve read this book, um, eight times,” Bren’s shoulders lifted sheepishly, “because it’s my favorite right now, so I have it all memorized, but I was reading it anyways because it’s just-- it’s just great, yeah? So If you want, I could help you with the parts you might have trouble with or--Oh!” A grin suddenly split across his face again, “I could also just explain it if you want! In Zemnian!”_

_Eodwulf continued to stare, blinking several times. The world seemed to sway along with the wheat as the wind shifted directions. Silence rang, and Bren shot another glance back, his grin petering out. His shoulders deflated, but he cleared his throat and continued to speak._

_“I mean, I know it really well, and I’ve already explained it to my parents, so I know how to do it already…” Bren’s hand drifted away from the pages of the book, grabbing a stalk of wheat and twisted it between his fingers idly. “But… if you’d rather you could just read it and I could translate anything you have trouble with like, um… like I said.”_

_“Oh.” Eodwulf said stupidly, blinking like how he would when he took his first steps out of his house directly towards the sunrise, each day, still half asleep. “Um. You explaining it sounds like it would be less boring for you than just waiting for me to reach a part I can’t read…”_

_Bren turned back to face him, his eyebrows just a bit high and for a moment, Bren’s eyes met his before turning back to the ground, and a smile curled back on his lips. “I mean I don’t really mind; I have another book I could read, but-- okay!”_

_Bren scooted a bit further away, and waved Eodwulf over, gesturing at the space he had just made beside him. Still in a daze, Eodwulf ducked under gap in the fence, taking a few ginger steps towards the other boy as he rattled on about his book, and sat down carefully beside him._

_“So this book, it’s actually a serial apparently, but this is the only one we have in town, but it’s easy enough to understand on its own. It’s about a teen detective named Angus, he’s from Tal’dorei, that’s the continent to the west of us across the Lucidian ocean, which is like, basically lawless compared to the Empire, and they even bend a knee to a kingdom of Hobgoblins which controls the south there, and he’s friends with a silver dragon who’s like his mentor who’s trying to teach him all about how to be a good detective and stuff while disguised as his grandfather with magic, but that’s not too important, because he’s looking for his father who was kidnapped by this thing called the Clasp which is a group of criminals that run unchecked and…”_

_Bren continued to talk, the words flowing tirelessly from his mouth like summer rainshower, the minutes ticking by with no signs of stopping, sometimes his hands gesticulating wildly as he explained the book in incredible detail, down to quotes that he translated to Zemnian. Eodwulf felt a little shell-shocked, in more ways than one. When he had first started watching Bren, the other boy had seemed somewhat quiet. Bren spoke when spoken to, or sometimes to correct something, and sometimes Eodwulf had seen him just say nothing, ignoring people when they spoke to him. When he did speak, it always seemed to be brief, just a few seconds of words before they would walk away, and more often than not, Bren would go back to reading. But now that Bren was speaking_ to him, _he was drowning in a downpour of words. He’d never seen anything like this before._

_“And then, Angus told the elf--Oh! Um.” Bren came to a sudden halt, giving another quick, rushed glance Eodwulf’s way, before turning back to stare intently at the book that still rested in his lap. “Sorry, um, my father says when I get too excited I forget my manners, people don’t usually, uh…” Bren shook his head. “My name is Bren. Bren Ermendrud. You’re… Eodwulf Dieshafer, right?”_

_Eodwulf’s eyes widened. “You know my name?”_

_Bren shrugged, his expression turning down again, for some strange reason. “I know almost everyone’s names in Blumenthal, but my father said it’s rude to not ask anyways.”_

_“But…” Eodwulf frowned, furrowing his brow. Sure, he was a little forgetful, but he would know if he introduced himself to Bren Ermendrud of all people... “We’ve never talked before.”_

_“Yeah, but we both go to the same schoolhouse. Plus, you’re the only Eodwulf in Blumenthal, so it’s not too hard to put a name to a face over time.” Bren tilted his head thoughtfully. “Actually, thinking on it, you speak Common pretty well when we do our lessons…”_

_“I mean,” Eodwulf felt his face heat up, and his stomach curl in on itself. He he slung his arm over his chest, gripping his shoulder, and shrugged, “I’m not_ super _bad at it I guess? But, I mean, I’m just not really good at it either.” He certainly wasn’t as good as Bren was--Bren was probably even better than Morgan..._

_“That’s not true at all,” Bren said, furrowing his brow, his mouth pulled down into a small frown. “Aside from conjugation, you’re almost always right. You’re even better than some of the older kids.”_

_Eodwulf stared at Bren, his jaw slowly going slack as the other boy’s words tumbled in his head and it slowly sunk in that Bren had just_ complimented him _. It made his chest pull together tightly, fluttering like wheat on a summer’s breeze, and his face flush hot, like the time he fell asleep facing the sunset and burned his face beat-red. Eodwulf found he had to avert his eyes before he could force his mouth to move once more._

_“Lucky guess?” Eodwulf squeaked._

_“You’d need more than just one lucky guess to speak Common like you do and still be bad at it,” Bren said with a laugh. It was a warbling, pure sound, uneven, like the splash of a bucket filled to the brim with liquid sunshine being carried by someone to small to carry it properly._

_“Well, maybe not all of it is lucky…” Eodwulf mumbled, his face feeling warmer than ever. “But, uh, that doesn’t matter. You were saying about the uh… the elf Angus met?”_

_Bren turned, fixing Eodwulf with a strange, almost confused looking expression, that was quickly overwhelmed by a toothy grin. “Yeah! So, Angus told the elf the password that he had found on the inside of his father’s journal…”_

_Eodwulf scooted just a bit closer as he settled in, listening Bren rattle on about his book, basking in the warmth of the sun on a clear summer’s day, and hanging on to every word._

* * *

 

_“Wulf?”_

An image of Astrid rattled into his skull, her words like the distant rumble of thunder, sending a strange chill up his spine and sent his head spinning in the dark. Astrid? Where…? Eodwulf blearily forced his eyes to open, fluttering in the dim light. Was he sleeping? Why? 

 _“Just... checking in…”_ Astrid’s voice continued to rattle on his head, but not his ears-- no direction or source to hone in on in the blurry brown that swayed in circles as he strained to focus his eyes. He was laying his head down on... His arm, probably. Someone’s arm, probably. 

His mouth was dry, his throat burned, and as he lifted his head the whole world swayed and shifted around him. The table he was resting himself on seemed to groan in protest, tempting so sweetly for him to not leave the easy lull it provided. Everything was twisting hazily, his stomach queasy, overfilled with liquor, and bile making a move up his throat that he had to swallow down roughly. He could hear something indistinct just out of earshot, like talking. Chattering away.

 _“I know you said you’d be a few days, but…”_ Astrid continued, as Eodwulf's hand knocked against the side of one of his tankards, sending it clattering down to the ground. He stared, dizzy, as it rolled to a stop against the leg of the barstool next to his.

 _“I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright, after… yesterday.”_  

Eodwulf furrowed his brow. Yesterday... Oh. The memories surfaced back into his mind, but they were muted, soaked through with liquor until they drowned in amber wash. Sound didn’t travel and the scorch marks didn’t burn, and as they came to mind, they melted like last remains of last snow, into muddied soil flooded by rain.

 _“I covered for you at work,_ _so, don’t worry about that.”_ Eodwulf scowled, and then scoffed, reaching for his other tankard on the bar. Empty. Gods, where the fuck was the innkeeper? The last thing he wanted was work-- work for his fucking _boss_. Lying _fickfehler_ shithead _bastard_ \--

 _“You said a few days, but--”_ Astrid’s voice continued. She’d already said a lot… How many words now? Wasn’t it his turn? His tongue tingled with arcane power-- or maybe the last tankard of drink. Possibly both. _“--you’ll be back soon,_ ja _?”_

Eodwulf frowned, peering down into the empty tankard, just in case there was some small amount of ale remaining, to no avail. He couldn’t just go-- go _back_ \-- He was waiting for Bren. Hopefully. Bren said “I”, so he heard him. The inn was dark now. Darker. He could see dusk filtering in through the windows, and the torches that hung on the walls had been lit. It had been hours… where was Bren? The icy feeling in his chest was back--pulling and tearing in contrast with the warmth in his face and gut.

 _“We should... talk.”_ Astrid’s voice said, quiet even in his head, as the magic buzz halted from his mind, and Eodwulf had to swallow back another swell of bile and ale at the back of his throat, his lips lightening and expression trembling. A soul-deep sickness pulled on his mind yet again-- what was he gonna say to Astrid? He’d wondered and wondered and refused to entertain that thought in the hours it took him to find the inn. Astrid _believed_ in the Empire. She didn’t know, right? She couldn’t know. She wasn’t like him. It’d be terrible. It’d be _bad_. She couldn’t just-- just--!

He wrenched his eyes shut, his grip tightened on the tankard, and his other hand moved to his hair, fingernails digging into the scrap briefly, the pinch of pain a small distraction to shatter the line of thought. 

Don’t think about it. 

Don’t think about it. 

Don’t think about-- Where was the fucking innkeeper? Eodwulf ran his hand through his hair, and found himself confused as his hand ran through it freely, rather than snagging on his hair tie. He opened his eyes to stare at his hand as it pulled free from his hair, blinking.

“Where’s my--” He slurred, but stopped short has his tongue buzzed and his mouth filled with the taste of copper, furrowing his brow as it hit him; Astrid. “Oh. Oh, _fick mi-- Schieße..._ ”

Eodwulf buried his face in his hands, leaning his head over the table. Fuck. He should-- he should say something. Not about-- not about anything that was… he couldn’t. But something. He realized he should probably also try to not sound so drunk, Astrid wouldn’t like that...

 _“Ja,_ um.” Eodwulf shook his head, trying to train the slur from his words. “‘M fine, _ja._ Just… thinkin’. Yeah, thinkin’. I’ll be back uh... soon, yeah?” Eodwulf paused. How many words was that? Was that enough? He tried to tally the words he had said in his mind, but they were swept away in a wash of alcoholic rain, swirling down a drain. Fuck it. “ _Danke,_ Astrid.”

Eodwulf took a deep breath. The warmth the ale offered was already beginning to subside against the frigid core lodged in his chest that drank in everything but inky numbness, and left his limbs heavy and boneless. He cradled his head between his hands, staring down at the rough scarred wood of the countertop, blood pounding in his ears, and waited.

 _“Just.”_ Astrid’s voice returned to his mind, like a bolt of annoyance before a quiet buildup of rolling thunder. He heard her sigh. _“Take care of yourself,_ ja _? I’m still at the Hammock, just let me know,_ und _I can come get you if you need me.”_

“Mhm,” Eodwulf mumbled, down to the bar, and to a hotel room in Kamordah. “‘Kay.”

He could have sworn he heard a small familiar grunt of frustration in response, but wasn’t sure if it was his mind playing tricks or Astrid’s spell. Dread chilled him-- the rain that kept the memories softed and muted cooling to sleet and tightening in his chest. He shook his head slowly, breathing through his nose to force himself to believe he was calm, when he was just exhausted and torn open. 

He needed more booze. Now. Where the _fuck_ was--

Eodwulf’s thoughts were cut short as the loud shrill creak of squeaky hinges and rickety wood dashed them from behind, and he turned to see the innkeeper walking through the front door, palming at the back of his neck with a sigh as he let it close behind him. He perked up when he saw Eodwulf staring. 

“Oh. You’re awake,” The innkeeper said, sounding disappointed. “Just had to turn away some poor fella on account of your…” the innkeeper trailed off, gesturing vaguely at Eodwulf.

“Whatever,” Eodwulf grunted, turning back around to stare into his dingy tankard, his head pounding and his gut being torn apart by fresh frost. “Jus-- just remember what I said… and fill me up again.”

“... ain’t you had--” The innkeeper started to say, but Eodwulf cut him off with a loud groan that trailed off into a sigh.

“The fuck did I fuckin’ say about you and your… _counseling?_ ” Eodwulf dragged the words out of his mouth like he was pulling back someone’s fingernail, waiting for a scream. “If I wanted _counseling_ , I’d go to a _counsellor_. I wanna have a drink. So be-- be a drink-- A drink-seller. It’s already your job so just… just do it.”

The innkeeper said nothing, but Eodwulf could hear the groaning floorboards behind him, and the innkeeper shuffled back behind the bar, to give him another tankard.

He closed his eyes, and waited for another chug of ale to drown it all back down. 

* * *

 

Caleb just considered himself fortunate that he still had a few minutes of his _Detect Magic_ left when Fjord returned from his sudden undiscussed reconnaissance, his armor and cloak glowing faintly with elements of transmutation and abjuration as he entered the spell’s detection range. Caleb let his fingers uncurl from the first of the gestures the somatic sequence for _Dispel Magic_ only once he was sure there was no illusions or enchantments at play. He sighed, offering a small scratch to the underside of Frumpkin’s chin, as he watched Fjord amble through the dense patch of bare thicket in the dimming dusk light.

Caleb had to wonder how the others hadn’t managed to notice he had slipped away to stroll on up to the inn without them, considering how loud the half-orc was being as he took his last steps into their hiding spot. At least he was casting a ritual at the time...

“Fjord!” Jester hissed, taking a step forward, her cheeks puffed up and her tail lashing back and forth like a cat on a hunt. “We said we were gonna wait for Nott to come back first! What if it really _was_ a trap? You could have _died_!”

“I’m fine _,_ Jess.” Fjord held up his hands in mock surrender. “I had a disguise, and _Thunderstep_ in case shit started goin’ sideways.”

“He’s right, Jester,” Nott’s voice soothed from nearby Caleb, still invisible from her own scouting attempts. “He had such an _inconspicuous_ spell to _quietly_ escape if he needed to.”

“Hey,” Fjord warned towards the sound of her voice.

Nott ignored him, a grin in her voice. “No one would even realize he was gone-- our _master_ of _stealth.”_

“Well, I mean,” Caduceus hummed thoughtfully, “If things did progress to that point, I imagine we would all need to take our leave anyways.”

“ _Thank you,_ Caduceus.”

“Caleb said that we needed to be _careful_ ,” Jester said, leveling a glare at Fjord. “Which means we definitely shouldn’t be like going up to the Inn _alone_ w _ithout telling anybody._ ”

“Water under the bridge. As long as Fjord is in one piece and uninhibited by external magic-- which I can see he is-- then all is still well,” Caleb said, clearing his throat, his eyes shifting across the thicket. Eodwulf could have still trailed him, but Caleb did not see any illusory auras within the range of his spell. He just wished the range was bigger. Thirty feet of safety did not inspire much confidence. “What I am more concerned with is if you were able to learn something.”

Fjord’s eyes flicked to Caleb, and he could see the other man shifted uncomfortably as he was addressed. Soon after Fjord’s speech towards Caleb at the camp, he had returned to his uneasy approach that he had been maintaining ever since he learned the truth. But, still, Fjord gestured vaguely over his shoulders, and spoke with a shrug, his tone no longer quite as clipped as before.

“Apparently, they ain’t accepting visitors. Front door’s actually locked. Innkeeper wouldn’t even let me come inside for a quick bite or anything-- said something about being all booked out and low on supplies.”

“The front door was locked?” Beau asked from the perch she had made for herself on a low-hanging branch that gave good vantage on the inn, her eyes flicking away from the building for just a moment. “That’s suspicious as fuck. What inn locks their front door before, like, midnight?”

“The innkeeper, as in the same one from before?” Caleb frowned.  “Did he seem nervous?” 

“Same one.” Fjord nodded, glancing back. “I wouldn’t say he was _nervous_ exactly, more like... uncomfortable? Weirded out?

Caleb pursed his lips. While he couldn’t rule out charm spells to keep him cooperative, he doubted Eodwulf would go so far just to make a man answer a door calmly. It could have been Eodwulf in disguise of course, but he imagined that even under close scrutiny of a very sharp eye, Eodwulf’s disguises at this point must be nearly flawless.

“Could you see inside?” Nott asked.

“Nah,” Fjord shook his head, “That was another weird thing. Made damn fuckin’ sure to only open the door a crack so he could squeeze in and out. What about you?”

“I couldn’t see anyone.” Nott grumbled, and Caleb could hear the sound of her fiddling with the cap of her flask. “The only window that had its shudders open didn’t give me a very good view, and Caleb said not to go inside.”

“So back to square one.” Fjord concluded, leaning up against one of the trees. “Or something like it.”

“I mean, we know the Inn’s like, really shady now, right?” Jester pressed a finger to her lips, considering. “And that the innkeeper’s probably lying.”

“So you think it’s a trap?” Yasha asked, casting a quick glance over her shoulder, checking their flank. Caleb found himself checking the periphery of his spell once more for any signs of magic.

“This would be a pretty terrible trap if it was,” Caduceus said with a furrowed brow. “There’s really no sense in setting a trap if nothing’s allowed to spring it; they could always turn people away once they were inside. This is just unsubtle” 

“You are right,” Caleb said with a nod, pointing a finger at Caduceus. “If Eodwulf had masterminded a trap here, I would have expected something more discrete. This is not his style.” Caleb paused, and shrugged a shoulder limply. “Or... _was_ not.”

“So you _don’t_ think it’s a trap?” Nott asked, and Caleb could feel the food he had forced down boil and lurch in his gut. He let the silence hang for a few moments

“There are, um… there is something I still think must be checked before we do anything.” Caleb said, glancing away from no one to nothing, “But in order to do that I will need to get close, so, ah… Jester, that spell you can do, where you teleport across distances instantly with someone else, would you be able to use it to get me closer to the inn?”

Jester cocked her head to the side. “Like, to the front door?”

“No! No, no.” Caleb shook his head, his body going taut at the suggestion. “The um, the backside. Would be more than enough. Within a blindspot of the windows would be ideal if you can fine-tune your exit location. Once we are there, I can take a moment to see if _Detect Magic_ is able to register anything on the inside of the Inn.”

“I mean,” Jester frowned, shifting her weight from side to side, “I could, but I only have two fourth levels so if I use it to bring us back as well, I’ll be all out, and I already used a third level earlier for you…”

“I recently learned the same spell Nott is currently using, I could use it on the both of us, and we could walk back unseen, if we are not detected.” Caleb stood, Frumpkin hopping off his lap, and padding over to the spot where he last heard Nott. “Save the second for any emergencies.”

“Okay,” Jester said with a nod, determination sparking in her eyes.

“Wait, you’re going right now?” Nott spoke up, an edge working its way into her voice. “Should I come with you?”

“No, Nott, you should stay here.” Caleb shook his head, and Jester approached him, placing a hand on his arm. “We will be outside of the range of _Message_ by a good two hundred feet, but you can contact us with it once we have made our way back.”

“... Okay.” Nott dropped her concentration on her invisibility spell, fading back into view as if color poured out of a shadow, at fixed Caleb with a wide-eyed look of concern that he found hard to take in even for him. She pulled her copper wire from her component pouch and twisted it between her fingers. “But _be careful_ , both of you.”

“We’ll be fine, Nott! Right, Caleb?” Jester asked, a smile on her face that brought the boiling, twisting, upward movement of Caleb’s lunch back for a moment. He swallowed it down. If he didn’t know Jester better, he would assume she was oblivious to the risk of approaching. 

“We will be quick,” Caleb said. Even as careful as they were, he was asking her to skirt along the jaws of a monster with him. If something went awry… ‘fine’ would not be the word he would use.

“We’ll keep an eye out on the inn for anything suspicious,” Caduceus said with a nod in the Inn’s direction. “If we see any activity from the Inn before you’re back, I can give the two of you a warning.”

Caleb nodded, and caught sight of Fjord shifting his shoulders and pursing his lips. Beau offered a thumbs up from her perch on the tree branch, her eyes never leaving the inn. Caleb wasn’t sure what to make of either, really, not now. He would--ideally--figure it out later.

 He turned to Jester and gave her a nod. She waved a hand as Caleb felt a sharp jerk and tug to his arm, and he jolted as the scenery flickered into something entirely different--the backside of the Knave’s Goblet Inn, it’s dark wood exterior darkened further by the setting sun.

He paused. _Detect Magic_ revealed nothing beyond the wall. But the Inn was not small enough that the spell’s range could encompass the entire thing. The front door was what concerned him the most, and he should be able to get close enough, just before that open window Nott had mentioned.

He motioned to Jester that he was going around the corner, and she nodded, following along at a pace behind. He hugged along the side of the Inn, unwilling to touch the side of the building, and slowly crept around. Treading lightly, he still sensed no magic emanating from inside or out, but after he rounded the corner, and passed the first window, with its shudders closed, he could hear the muffled sound of talking, though not enough to make anything out. 

Gritting his teeth, Caleb inched closer along the wall, straining to make out anything of substance from the muffled conversation on the interior of the inn, any scrap of words in Common or Zemnian that meant anything to him, to no avail. He could only hear the distant mumbling of slurred words and clipped tones.

When he finally was close enough to the open window that he believed the front door was in range, and doubled checked the spell’s sensors just to be safe, and recalled the interior of the inn from their brief stay at it the day before just to be sure he was within 30 feet of the door. He furrowed his brow. Nothing.

Though as he paused just before the open window, he heard the groan of floorboards moving closer, and closer, a mumbling growing louder as footfalls mirrored his path along the other side of the wall.

Caleb yanked the gum arabic from his pocket, waving it in the air and as whispered arcane words and lowly as he could as he reached back to touch Jester, and cast _Invisibility_ on the both of them. Caleb could see himself vanish from his peripheries, just as the person on the other side reached the window, and his mumbling became loud enough to hear, as he reached out and grabbed the shudders.

“... ten platinums what a fuckin deal that was…” The man-- the _innkeeper_ muttered and scoffed as he closed the shutters. “...bloody rich fucks from Kamordah go suckle some Thistle-Branch ya…”

Caleb felt Jester’s hand reach blindly for his, grabbing onto it tight, and the two of them stood there, silent, until the creak of the floorboards faded away as the innkeeper moved back deeper inside the building. Caleb still waited, frozen, half expecting magic to fly their way at any moment, but he heard Jester exhale a quiet sigh of relief.

“I think that was just the innkeeper,” she whispered.

“... _ja.”_ He eventually agreed, after several seconds of his voice caught in his throat, quiet as smoke, before he sighed. His concentration on _Detect Magic_ ended when he had to cast _Invisibility,_ and he was not going to risk dropping _Invisibility_ now, even if there was still the possibility that there was magic located on the other side of the inn his spell’s range never managed to touch. “But, we should leave anyways.”

He felt Jester shift next to him in a way that he imagined was her nodding her head in affirmation. Jester kept her hand on his as they slowly began to move away from the inn, and after a cautious trudge across the open field between the Inn and the thicket, Nott’s voice springing to his mind first, they returned to the group, and Caleb let the spell drop.

“Find anything?” Beau asked, tilting her head up.

“ _Nein_ , nothing of note.” Caleb sighed, inviting Frumpkin back up to his shoulders, which the familiar accomplished in one easy leap. “I did not have a chance to check all of the inn, but I was unable to sense any magic in place from the back, southeast side, or front door.”

“Well, that’s good, right?” Yasha asked, folding her arms. Caleb let his shoulders slump, and shook his head minutely. He could feel frustration ripple throughout the camp.

“Caleb, you said yourself that you _wanted_ to go see Eodwulf.” Fjord stressed, like he felt Caleb needed reminding. “I can appreciate some caution, but from what I’m hearin’, this place seems trap-free. There’s no magic, they’re not letting people in; what exactly are you looking for that’ll prove to you this ain’t some trap?”

“What I want to believe does not matter.” Caleb reminded Fjord, looking away with grit teeth. “As of right now, we don’t even know if Eodwulf is so much as in the building. He could have just prepared an ambush and sent me a message-- I don’t know the type of resources he could have to draw on.”

Not that Caleb really believed that. But the raw possibility, and the inability to refute it, made approaching the Inn still too high of a risk with such little gain. If anything, Caleb almost wished that he would find a surefire sign of a trap, at least that way he would know what needed to be done.

“I mean,” Jester shrugged a shoulder, “I could like, try to cast _locate object_ on like, his robes or something he’d like, definitely have? That way we could totally know if he was in the Inn.”

“There. See?” Fjord pointed a finger at Jester and smiled. “Problem solved.”

“Perhaps, yes, but this amulet I am wearing, when--” Caleb bit his lip. “It was promised to us that we would all one day wear them. As an honor. I would be very surprised to learn Eodwulf does not have one.”

Jester deflated, and Caleb watched as Fjord took a deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes.

“So what _should_ we do, then?” Nott asked, her expression dubious, “I mean, you’re the expert here, Caleb. Did-- did your training ever cover anything like this, like a _protocol_ for when your missing ex-classmate shows up and how to lure him into traps to capture him because you think he’s still crazy, or something like that?”

Caleb gave Nott a strange look and shook his head. “No?” 

“Look, I don’t know how they trained you.” Nott lifted her hands up disarmingly. “But like, _if_ you got training for something like that, what do you think would be the best way to tell if it was being used?”

“I do not know... Extended surveillance, probably.”

“So, like a stakeout?”

“Yes, but--” Caleb sighed, a sudden itch under his skin boiling up. He scratched along his arm uncomfortably. “But the length of time we would need to do such surveillance to the point we could be sure would be _days on end_ . Time we do not have when we must also consider that Astrid will be hunting us down even as we speak, even _if_ Eodwulf is telling the truth. We cannot just sit on our hands, for days on end, waiting for tells.”

Silence curtained over their hiding place, and Caleb’s eyes trained down on the ground. He should have known coming here was a mistake. Logically, he knew the safer option was to just call it all a wash, leave, and bite down the sentimental what-ifs that could get them all killed like he always had.

“So what are we gonna do then?” Fjord asked, crossing his arms.“Go in and hope for the best, or just… leave it alone?”

Caleb didn’t say anything, his teeth grinding together in his mouth silently. He could feel Fjord’s stare burning into him, his patience wearing thin.

“Hey Caleb?” Beauregard nodded towards him, sliding down from her branch like it was as simple as breathing. “If you think we should do surveillance, then what would you say is the longest time we could safely hide here?”

“I do not know. We were not trained to search forests for escapees, but she could have learned nearly anything since then, that one.” Caleb shrugged his shoulders, taking just a moment to consider everything they’ve been through today. “I do not believe she is using any sort of divination magic to track any of you. If that were the case, we surely would have had an encounter by now, and I did not detect any divination magic on anyone when I had my detection spell up… So that would mean, she is either utilizing whatever method Eodwulf used to track us down, which, given how quickly he found us, I doubt, or she is searching for all of us with her own two hands, and probably not in this area.”

“You think she’s like,” Beauregard pulled a face. “combing the entire fuckin’ forest for us? By herself?”

“I certainly would not put it past her,” Caleb said, and lifted his head, staring up at the sliver of dusk that was just barely tinging the horizon orange. “But, night will fall soon. She is, eh, was… stubborn, and not to be underestimated, but Astrid is no fool. She would probably end her search soon, and would not begin again until dawn.”

“So that means we'd be pretty safe to do a stakeout until dawn then, right? See if we can catch any… suspicious activity that might tip you off.” She sauntered up to Fjord, and gave his armor’s chest piece a smack. “Then we can answer Fjord’s question.”

“That is…” Caleb paused, narrowing his eyes at her. This was… new. Caleb had no idea what to make of it, but from what he could tell, she seemed as upfront as ever. He couldn’t remember the last time Beauregard opted for a slow approach. “Reasonable.”

“Well, actually, if we’re staying that long, then I might be able to make our path forward even more clear.” Caduceus said, raising up a hand. “Though I would need to find something to offer to the Wildmother, as well as some of your incense, Mr. Caleb.”

Caleb squinted at the man. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be able to do it today,” Caduceus frowned briefly, “Didn’t seem like it would be needed this morning, but if we’re staying the night, then, I could try to petition the Wildmother for guidance, through _Divination._ ”

“Wait, is that what you used to…?” Fjord started to say, and trailed off.

“Yeah,” Caduceus said with a nod.

“Wait ah,” Caleb interjected, straightening, “ _Divination…?_ I am not familiar with the workings of that spell, what is it that It could offer us?”

“I can the Wildmother a question, something that either unknown to us, or about an event which will happen soon, and she will provide for me an answer.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, as I said,” Caduceus craned his neck, looking around them into the thicket. “I do need an offering-- something within the influence the Wildmother. Something living. As well as some of your incense. But, yeah, just like that.”

“Yes, fine, of course,” Caleb said, shaking his head in disbelief. “If it will provide for us an answer, take as much as you need.”

“You know, there’s plenty of those evergreen plants around here,” Beau offered. “If something like that’d work, I’m pretty sure I could find something.”

“That could work,” Caduceus said, his voice rumbling with delight. “The more interesting the offering, the better.”

“Oh! I could go with you!” Jester offered, a grin worming its way back onto her face.

“No, we are _not_ sending both clerics out into the woods-- not after the shit that happened on Urukaxl, no dice,” Fjord objected. “Jester, you stay here.”

“I thought you were _done being captain_?” Jester shot Fjord a glare that could kill, and crossed her arms tight, her tail lashing out once like the crack of a whip.

“W-well I--”

“No, ah, Jester,” Caleb winced, waving her off. “Fjord is right. We need to be able to communicate if we notice any signs of concerning activity from the inn.” He stopped short, glancing around at his friends faces, for any sign of dissatisfaction. “That is, of course, if we are going with this plan.”

“Wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t think it was worth going with,” Beau said. With mild surprise, Caleb realized no one seemed to object, not even Fjord.

“Okay.” He nodded to him himself. “Thank you, Beauregard.”

“It’s nothing,” Beauregaurd said, and shrugged, almost as if it was.

* * *

 

 

Thankfully, it did not take the others long to return from their search successful.

In the meantime, Caleb had set up his alarm, as well as the dome. As they all convened, and kept a careful eye on the inn, they saw nothing of note for the hours that dripped on by. Caleb spent much of the time staring silently at the inn, Frumpkin in his lap offering some small respite to the tension as the others talked lowly and traded off keeping a lookout. They seemed content to give him his space for now.

They started to set down for the night. Caleb took the chance to repeat his nightly routine, and volunteered to take the first watch along with Nott. He had slept late enough as-is. He was not tired.

The minutes eventually melded into an hour. They watched in relative silence. He could only see so much, even when he was using his lucky rock he infused with transmutation magic to enhance his vision, but he couldn’t detect any activity in the inn. 

Soon enough, the time of their shift was at an end. Caleb’s eyes did not leave the inn.

“Caleb?” Nott asked, breaking the silence she had so graciously allowed. He was fairly sure she had a few questions of her own about the situation, but after several long and exhausting conversations over the past two days, she granted him some silence. She always seemed to have a good sense when he needed quiet. “It’s getting kind of late, shouldn’t we be trading off shifts?”

“... You can go ahead,” Caleb muttered back, smoothing down Frumpkin’s fur. “I will go to sleep soon. I already slept late enough today as is. I only used the one spell slot anyways.”

“Are you okay?”

“After today, I am not sure what I am.” Caleb shrugged a shoulder. “It is… a lot to take in, you know? I will be better once we know how to move forward.”

“... do you want a nip before you go to bed?” Not asked, booze sloshing around in her flask as she gave it a demonstrative shake.

“Sure,” Caleb said with a soft snort. He accepted the flask from Nott’s hand, and took a long swig from the flask until his throat burned, and had to stop. It wasn’t bad. Warming, but in a different way. “Thank you, Nott.”

Not seemed to hesitate as she took her flask back, but seemed content to leave her concerns alone for the time being. He was grateful. She shuffled off to the other side of the dome, where she shook Yasha awake before returning to his side, curling up beside him and closing her eyes.

“Goodnight, Caleb,” She mumbled. He couldn’t help but imagine she likely did not get a very good night’s rest. She was always a worrier. 

“ _Schlaf schön,”_ Caleb whispered back.

Hardly a minute passed before Yasha maneuvered, quietly as she could, through the dome, trying not to wake anyone. Caleb could hear Caduceus startle slightly at one point, and Yasha offered a quiet apology to the man as he mumbled something and shifted in his sleep. She approached Caleb, where the vantage of the inn was the best, as gave him a curious look.

“You’re still awake.” She noted.

“I am not yet tired.” Caleb shook his head. “I will go to sleep soon enough.”

Yasha gave him a strange look, but nodded, understanding, and settled in nearby. Her eyes drifted skyward as they so often did, searching for storms. For signs, Caleb supposed. Caleb kept his eyes on the ground, staring at the dark shadow of the inn under the glow of a dim, waning moon, unable to find anything.

Caleb could count the seconds until Caduceus would be up and ready with his spell. He didn’t truly need to sleep. He could just do some piecemeal mental exercises while looking over his spells to recover what little energy he used today. Caleb wasn’t sure he could sleep, anyways. Too many possibilities rising to the surface of his mind to be dealt with, while messy, useless emotions tried to tangle and tie their way around them. If Eodwulf was telling the truth there were any number of ways that this could go, and Caleb knew it was stupid to expect the truth would mean things would get easier.

“Are you nervous?” Yasha asked, her voice slightly against the rattling branches on the low wind. Caleb stared at her, unsure if she had really said anything at all, as her eyes were still aimed at the sky for a moment before she turned to look at him. “About… you know…”

“I am anxious about a lot of things right now,” Caleb responded.

“Well, It’s just.” Yasha gestured vaguely in the direction of the inn. “If Eodwulf was telling you the truth. Are you nervous to see him?”

“Most people would be more nervous about the possible death trap.”

Yasha seemed to consider this for a moment, tilting her head slightly. “So… yes?”

Well. She had him like a book in her hands, didn’t she? Caleb glanced back towards the inn, but nodded mutely. Yasha remained quiet for a good few seconds, and he could see her nod from the corner of his eye.

“That makes sense. In your shoes… I would be terrified. I’m not sure if I could--” Yasha cut herself off with a deep breath, and then made a small, dissatisfied noise on the exhale before she continued. “The two of us, um, we are a lot alike, I think.”

“Like me is not a very good thing to be.”

Yasha gave him a wry look, like she felt the same sentiment about herself.

Caleb frowned in her direction, and directed Frumpkin to go over to her and act cute, unsure if he had anything he could say to dismiss that notion. Frumpkin rose up, and padded over to where Yasha sat, rolling over onto his stomach playfully. A small smile formed on her face as she reached out to give his fluffy belly some love, and he immediately started pawing and nipping at her hand.

“But, um,” Yasha continued. “It’s just, after hearing your story, I realized that there are a few things we have in common. Aside from, you know, not being very good with people, and speaking Celestial.”

“Such as?” Caleb asked with a furrow bow.

“Well,” Yasha’s hand stopped on Frumpkin’s fur, letting his familiar take one of her fingers into his mouth and nibble. “There’s a part of my life I don’t remember, and I think I’ve done some pretty terrible things, and… I left someone. When I left Xhorhas. Someone I loved… very much.”

Caleb blinked. That. That was a lot to take in. Caleb couldn’t deny that he had always felt a strange kinship with the woman, though apparently, it ran a bit deeper than just a shared case of clumsy social skills.

“How--” Yasha asked, shifting slightly. “How was it like? When you had your mind restored.”

“...Like waking up from a dream,” Caleb said, recounting his first clear memory, of the woman in the garden holding his hand, a smile on her face, her eyes so bright. “Like… a pane of frosted glass broke away, and I could finally see again. And then I could remember.”

Yashed nodded. “For me was like being startled awake, and then I was stuck on edge for… days, weeks… how long was the gap for you?”

“Eleven years, and some months.”

Yasha lifted her head back up to stare at him, her expression mildly horrified. Caleb glanced away. It was nothing he hadn’t earned on his own.

“And you don’t remember anything?”

Caleb’s mind filled with the cloudy memories. He could remember Eodwulf, and Astrid, watching and whispering and talking. The walls, the bed. Zemnian lullabies. Scratches on his arms. Being scrubbed until his skin was raw with a thousand needles. Storms and snowy silence and sun streaming through barred windows. Raining ashes and dying screams. Cinders on fields of wheat. Wild wailing and broken sobbing and maddened laughter.

“Nothing I could say was real,” he said simply, dismissing the memories back to corners best forgotten. “What about you?”

“No.” Yasha shook her head, her eyes falling back to the ground. “I’m not even sure how long. I was already an adult when it happened, and we never really, you know, kept time, where I’m from. Months, years… I’m not sure.”

“I am sorry,” Caleb offered, painfully inadequate in every way. Yasha didn’t respond beyond her expression tightening slightly for a moment. “I know for me it was, ah, difficult, after it happened. I believe that not knowing how long would be far more cruel.”

“Maybe,” Yasha said with a shrug, and a small, sad smile. “But it’s nothing I didn’t earn for myself.”

Caleb felt the impulse to object, but… he didn’t know how to object to a sentiment he thought true for himself as well. He couldn’t refute the equivalent for someone else. Not in any way that mattered.

“Sorry,” Yasha said eventually, “That’s a bit of a downer, isn’t it?"

“A bit. But, I am already a downer, so. I understand.” Caleb leaned back, his eyes falling back to the shadow of the Inn. “I also understand what you meant by how you would be terrified. This is… Extraordinarily terrifying. I do not know what I am doing here.”

Yasha’s brow wrinkled slightly. “You wanted to help Eodwulf.”

“Yes, but that--” Caleb made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “I do not know what I am _doing._ I hardly even know why I am doing it, dangerous as it is, but the others...” He gestured at the sleeping bodies of his friends, all so seemingly peaceful in spite of everything. “The others are looking to me as if I am some sort of expert, who can protect them if this a trap, when I am not _._ And if it’s not a trap… I don’t even know if I am ready to face Eodwulf if he knows the truth. What could I even offer him?”

Yasha stayed quiet. Caleb rubbed his hand over his eyes, bowing his head as he felt the tension that had been rising from within billowed and shook into his words. The product of a day’s worth of longstanding uncertainty, clouded by deluded sentimentality and  problems with far too little information to calculate risks.

“I think…” Yasha said after a near-minute of silence. “That it helps, having someone who can, well, understand, maybe just a little. Molly… he understood a little. He understood the… waking up feeling lost part, even if things were different for him. It made me feel less alone, back then.”

Caleb had to look away. He had absolutely nothing that he could say in response to that.

“I think you’re more ready than you believe you are,” Yasha added, her voice soft, and warm, and more certain in tone than he was accustomed from her. It made him feel like believing her, no matter how much it felt like it couldn’t be true.

“... Tell me, the person you loved, and left behind…” Caleb could almost feel her tense up from where he sat several feet away. “Do you want to go back and see them someday?”

Yasha made a strangled sounding noise from the back of her throat. He realized belatedly that it was likely a sensitive issue.

“You do not need to answer if it is painful,” Caleb said, ducking his head. “But, no matter your desire, I… hope it is clear that I will be there to support it. It is only fair to repay the favor.”

“No, it’s just…” Yasha said, her voice now soft and halting as he was more accustomed. “I don’t think there’s anyone to return to.”

Caleb closed his eyes. So it was like that then. He felt a new ache form in his chest, pulsing in tune with so many others.

“Regardless.” Caleb took a deep breath. “I will support any decision you make on the subject.”

“... Thank you.”

Caleb blinked, and nodded. When he opened his eyes again, he realized they felt heavy. Perhaps sleep would be wise after all.

“I am going to wake Beauregard,” Caleb said, rising up, and turning to look at her. She had Frumpkin cradled in her lap now. “Thank you, Yasha. For sharing your thoughts and listening to me. It was… helpful.”

Yasha nodded once, and a curious look came over her, her mouth opening a few moments as she stared down at the familiar in her lap, like she was choosing her words carefully.

“Do you want Frumpkin back, or do you mind if I hold onto him for the watch?” She asked, lifting her gaze back up.

Caleb felt a bubble of laughter make an effort towards his throat, though it couldn’t quite make it all the way. Instead, his expression softened, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Sure. He is a good watchmate.”

* * *

 

Caleb was not often on the opposite side of waiting for rituals.

While the others were mulling around in wait for Caduceus’ spell, Caleb found himself sitting next to the giant man. He trained his eyes on the sprig of sweet-smelling evergreen plant that, surprisingly enough, bore flowers in spite of the season, even as it withered before his eyes as various fungal blooms took its place on the ground before them. Caduceus seemed to be in meditation more so than he was casting any rituals, given the lack of verbal prayers or somatic gesturing, but Caleb didn’t have a concrete enough understanding on the methodology of Divine magic to make any criticisms of Caduceus’s approach.

Waiting felt like his insides were slowly burning to cinders like incense he had given over for the ritual, filling him with smoke until his head felt light and dizzy and thick and fuzzy at the same time. He pinched at the bridge of his nose, to push against the growing pressure. From the corner of his eye, he caught Yasha staring up at the overcast sky, her expression similarly clouded, and Jester scribbling into her journal. He wondered if they were also asking their gods for guidance. 

It would probably do him no good to attempt to join. He had no gods to turn to in the end.

“Mr. Caleb?” Caduceus asked, breaking the silence.

“... Yes?” Caleb felt the tension roil in his gut like bubbling tar.

“I was just wondering if there was anything you wanted to ask in specific.” Caduceus smiled, his eyes still closed.

That was a loaded question. He could think of many questions to ask the gods. Perhaps not Caduceus’ Wildmother, but the gods all the same. But he only had the one, and they had a problem in front of them, so that was all he could ask about.

“I want to know if Eodwulf was telling the truth.” Caleb rasped, his voice like charcoal on paper. “When he told me he had his curse removed, and when he said he just wanted to talk. That is all.”

Caduceus nodded slowly, his expression placid for a few more seconds before he turned his head slightly to the side, and his smile faded just slightly, and Caleb could feel the other’s eyes move to Caduceus, hungry with anticipation. Caduceus took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling some of the incense smoke, and he could feel the shift in energy as the firbolg tapped into his divine source.

“What will we find lying in wait for us inside of that inn?” Caduceus asked aloud.

Caleb held his breath. The breeze picked up, whistling through the bare branches of the thicket, and rattling them together, almost musical in nature. Caleb saw the already wilting remains of the sprig of flowering evergreen wither and decay, as the fungal blooms swelled and grew more vibrant and The sticks of incense burned down to the nub in seconds. The breeze faded, and Caduceus opened his eyes. He glanced down at Caleb, and his smile returned. 

“I think going to the inn is a good idea.” He said with a nod, and the low simmer of tension he had been maintaining roared to life and flooded his limbs with energy, demanding action.

“She said that--” Caleb cut himself off, so many words trying to move up his throat at once, he could choke. He straightened, and shook his head. “What did…?”

“She said,” Caduceus’s smile widened just slightly, “that inside we would find someone in pain, in need of mending, and with a desire for reconciliation.”

Caleb found himself rising to his feet, his fingers flexing and shaking in a futile effort to expend some of the energy as Caduceus added more and more fuel to the fire. Caleb turned to stare at the inn in the distance, all seemingly quiet on an overcast morning, but he knew firsthand the turmoil those walls hid. 

“Wait, so,” Nott said, taking a small step forward, “that means he was telling the truth, right?”

“Sounds like it to me,” Caduceus said, rising after Caleb and picking his staff up from the ground. The others began to pull in closer together, but Caleb ignored them, his eyes still trained on the inn.

Eodwulf told the truth. Eodwulf _knew the truth_ . While he couldn’t claim to know the man as he knew the boy, and he could only guess at how much blood the other would have on his hands by now, and the cruelties and powers he had learned to inflict on others--that was _still_ Eodwulf. Still someone he had loved, and never truly stopped loving. Even if survival drove him away and made him wish he could, some things just couldn’t be discarded so easily. Strange and illogical as it seemed, the same could be said about him to Eodwulf as well. 

Eodwulf had _listened_.

Caleb felt a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched, jerking away just a bit, but the hand stayed on him, a firm, yet gentle touch. Yasha.

“Do you think you’re ready to see him?” Yasha asked, her voice like a whisper, her brow turned slightly upward in understanding. Caleb met her mismatched eyes, and nodded.

“ _Ja.”_ His eyes trailed off of Yasha, her hand pulling away as he did, to the rest of their group just a step behind her, all eyes on him, waiting. It was not a question of ready, not really. “We should, um… be quick. But, cautious. Just in case.”

There was still Astrid, still possibly out there, hunting them all down. Surely Caduceus’ spell would have made mention of her if she was in the inn. For the time being, the inn might be one of the safest places in the area for them all. 

“Caleb you’re lookin’ a little…” Beau said, gesturing vaguely at all of him, her lip threatening to curl. “If you need a second, we’ve been sitting around here for hours anyways. So. You know.”

“No,” Caleb said, turning back to the inn, squared his jaw, and took a step forward. “I have kept us all waiting long enough.”

Caleb continued his stride, going through the thicket as the others fell in all around him. The march across the open fields as they joined onto the road made him feel exposed, but he didn’t slow his pace. He felt as though a wire had been placed in his chest, tugging him forward with every step, each step making the nerves in his gut pull tighter, tangling and coiling until they were packed so tight they were nothing but a ball of molten heat. It did not take them long to all be standing in front of the Inn, banging on the locked door in spite of the fact it was nearly nine in the morning. Eventually, the door cracked open, and the innkeeper poked his eye out.

“Sorry we’re-- Oh, hold on, it’s you lot,” The innkeeper said, and immediately started squirming through the small crack in the door, and closed it behind him before he turned around. The man gave them all a strange look, shifting uneasily. “This ain’t about the cart is it? Cause those two guys who came in yesterday claiming you sent them in to pick ‘em up for you seemed to know a whole lot that only you folk’d know, and--”

“Relax,” Fjord soothed, lifting a hand. “this ain’t about the cart, we were just--”

“There should be a man staying at this inn,” Caleb interrupted, taking a half-step in front of Fjord as he cut him off. “Zemnian. Long brown hair and green eyes. He… uh. He may have mentioned a-- A ‘Bren’...?”

The innkeepers eyes went wide, and his attention narrowed down to Caleb, and glanced back at the door for a moment and pointed back over his shoulder. “Gods, is he yours?”

“Sure, yes,” Caleb nodded.

“Oh thank the gods,” the innkeeper sighed, slumping. “I’m sorry, but your friend is a real fuckin’ prick, you know that? Please tell me you’re here to pick his sorry, drunken, ass up?”

“Something along those lines.” Caleb shared an uncomfortable look with the group. They hadn’t really discussed… any of that, but no one was clearly indicating an answer either. 

“Then _please_ , by all means, do,” The innkeeper grumbled. He turned around, opened the door, and trudged inside. “He said to only let the one in, but, fuck it, you might need some help carrying him out anyway, depending.”

“Carry him out?” Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow.

The innkeeper scoffed. “Your friend passed out at the bar last night and woke up at the crack of dawn with a hangover. Chugged some water, ate a loaf of bread, demanded three bottles of mead, and stumbled upstairs. Fuck if I know how that’s been going for him, I’ve just been counting my blessings.”

Caleb blinked. That was… interesting. Understandable given circumstances, but… he shook his head, filing the information away, and walked into the Inn, the mighty nein trailing behind him.

“Three bottles of mead this early…?” Beau muttered, “That’s one hell of a bender. We don’t exactly water our shit down around here.”

“Maybe it’s for the day?” Nott suggested, though she didn’t quite seem to believe it.

“It’s still early as shit for drinking,” Beau shot back.

“Yeah, but can you really blame him though?” Jester whispered back. 

“...nah.”

Caleb ignored them and made his way up the stairs, each step creaking slowly under his feet. The simple, twelve-step staircase seemed to stretch out to last forever. The footfalls of his friends echoed behind him as his mind drifted.

He didn’t have a plan. He didn’t know what he was going to say. That would take far too long to figure out the script, and he knew that he would never be able to make one that satisfied him anyways. But he needed to do _something._ Ever since the start of his ill-gotten second chance, he had been consumed with the need to do _something_ … but he could never pin down what. 

To bend the world until it erased his failure. To create a solution to a problem far bigger than any one man. To eliminate a problem that could kill him with a word. To mend. To repair. To pay penance. To make his mother and father proud. Over the years alone on the road, it had flickered and changed focus many times, but never was it quenched. Each small step of progress, no matter how infrequent and small, kept it fed just enough to keep him going, all for the sake of one night, to make up for raining ashes and dying screams.

But he was not alone on that night in Blumenthal. There were two other mistakes made then, ones he couldn’t help but feel the burden of, if not as heavily. Their failures were his failures, after all. For the first time, he had a tangible chance to repair some of the damage, in a way he had always assumed to be most impossible.

To help the family he promised to be a member of from that night forward, but never did. 

Caleb reached the top of the stairs, and stopped as the nearest door caught his eye. It had been cracked open, instead of closed all the way. The Eodwulf he knew would have walked up the stairs and immediately stumbled into the first bed he could, not wanting to take a step further. 

He realized the footsteps behind him had groaned to a halt, and he jerked his head to face them, a strange fear sparking briefly along his mind that when he turned he wouldn’t see them. But, for some reason he couldn’t entirely fathom, they were all still there, crammed into the narrow staircase, watching and waiting, expectant.

Caleb took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. It creaked open just slightly as he did.

He heard a ragged sigh mixed with a scoff from the other side of the door.

“ _What?”_ Eodwulf snarled. He sounded exhausted. Caleb could feel the words tightening in his throat, so he only forced out what was necessary.

“Eodwulf,” Caleb said, his voice hoarse. 

There was a pause. Caleb heard the sound of a glass bottle hitting the floor, and then rushed, uneven, heavy footfalls from the other side of the door before a hand yanked it open.

Eodwulf stood in the doorway, Bleary-eyed and bloodshot, his hair a limp mess falling loose around his face, stubble starting to form along his cheeks where it looked like it should have been shaved clean, and a bruise smeared across one of his flushed cheeks. It took a moment for him to focus his eyes on Caleb, but when he did, the man’s eyes widened for just a moment taking all of Caleb in, and then started to quiver. His whole formed swayed, like the lynchpin had been pulled out of him and he was starting to crumble, and he took a shaky step forward, his expression breaking apart all at once.

“You were right,” Eodwulf croaked, his voice like the sound of a sheet of ice breaking apart underfoot in the middle of a lake. “Bren-- _Du_ \--”

Eodwulf choked, stumbled forward, and just shy of collapsed into Caleb. Caleb scrambled to catch the other man in his arms, trying to pull up the other man up, as he fell. Eodwulf grabbed fistfuls of Caleb’s coat, and pulled him in as tight as he could, leaning on Caleb, and immediately burying his face into Caleb’s shoulder, and fell apart into choking, gasping sobs.

“Bren I--” Eodwulf tried, and failed, to say, cut off by another gasp. He tightened his hold on Caleb. “ _Es tut mir Leid, Bren, bitte, es tut mir leid._ You were right, I’m sorry, I so-- _für alles,_ Bren, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, _Ich wusste nicht_ , I’m sorry, I’m sorry,  _es tut mir leid--_ Bren, I-- _Ich_ \-- _”_

Eodwulf continue to babble, over and over, caught in a loop of apologies, his words broken apart by tears into a jagged blend of Common and Zemnian. His words felt like being doused with frigid water, washing any response clean from Caleb’s throat. The white-hot bundle of nerves that had fueled him up until now burst in the wake of the deluge, the energy scattering out far beyond him, and leaving him with nothing but a dizzying weightlessness. Unable to offer anything as Eodwulf broke down, he instead tried his best to prop Eodwulf upright, but the other man seemed to have entirely given up on that venture, shifting his grip just so he could cling tighter.

From the corner of his eye, Caleb caught movement, as they others all shifted in the stairwell, some of their hands motioning away from their weapons. They were all staring, their eyes like needlepoints poking into his skin, prodding and wondering and _watching_. He shifted uncomfortably, and immediately Eodwulf’s grip slackened, his mantra cutting off abruptly into choked back little sniffles and gasps, like he was trying to pull himself together through force.

But he couldn’t. Caleb knew that all too well. He felt a sudden drop in his gut at the change-- because he _knew_ how Eodwulf used to be, and doubted that had changed at all over the years. He tightened his grip on the other man, and pulled him closer with a deep breath. He reeked of alcohol and vomit.

“Eodwulf, ah…um-- it--” Caleb’s words snagged in his throat, and he abandoned the idea of using common entirely. “ _es ist… es ist okay._ ”

 _“_ No! _Nein!”_ Eodwulf protested, his grip returning in kind, as his _“Nein, nein, nein-- es ist nicht-- nein, nein, nein...”_ Eodwulf’s words dissolved back and forth between Zemnian and incomprehensible whimpering, his shoulders shaking as all the tension came spilling out, like a bottle of mead dropped on the floor.

Caleb turned, just slightly, to his friends, still frozen in the stairwell, their expressions varying between discomfort and misplaced sympathy. He shot them all a desperate, wide-eyed stare, pursing his lips just so, begging wordlessly, for privacy.

Yasha seemed to catch on first.

“We should... um…” She started to say, trailing off, gesturing back downstairs.

“Yeah, we should uh,” Caduceus picked up, already taking a step back down the stairs, “Give the two of you some privacy.”

They started slowly making their way back down, with only Nott not moving to leave them be. She gave Caleb a long, understanding, but questioning stare, and he saw her mouth to him ‘are you sure?’. He gave her a nod, and she gave one back before she began a slow descent with the others.

“ _Bren_ , _”_ Eodwulf sputtered, shaking his head like he wanted to bury it deeper into Caleb’s shoulder. “ _Bren you were_ right _. He-- He put those memories in our heads.”_

 _“Yeah,”_ Caleb said with a nod.

 _“Bren he-- he--”_ Another gasp leading into a sob cut him off before he could continue. “ _Bren they were innocent. Our parents were innocent. Yours, and Astrids, and mine, they-- they didn’t do anything.”_

 _“Yes.”_ Caleb's mouth tasted like ashes. _“I know,”_ he whispered.

“ _He_ _**lied** to us.” _ 

_“He did.”_

_“He... I--I trusted him.”_

_“... We all did.”_

_“He-- he broke-- he made you--”_ Eodwulf choked back his words, and for the first time, pulled his head back from Caleb’s shoulder, so he could look at Caleb’s face. Eodwulf’s breath smelled like honey mead, enough to burn, and his eyes were bloodshot and glassy, tears still streaming out of the corners and turning his cheeks blotchy to match the flush. Eodwulf swallowed thickly, and his mouth trembled open. “ _Sixteen_ **_years._** _”_

 _“... it was five for me.”_ Caleb muttered. 

Apparently this was the wrong answer for Eodwulf. His expression broke down into open weeping, unable to pull it back anymore, and buried his face into Caleb’s neck. One of his hands moved from his desperate cling to run his hand down the back of Caleb’s head, smoothing his hair down as he did. Gentle.

Without warning, Caleb could feel tears rising up in his throat too, like billowing steam rattling against the lid of old pot he’d sworn had rusted shut. He choked and swallowed until that rising wetness had been dragged back to his chest, where it was forced to subside.

He remembered what it had been like in the immediate aftermath of his mind being restored, so scared and exhausted and weak, and wishing for anything to lean on. There was nothing he could say that would make any of this easier, but the least he could do was hold it together. He was good at that. When he needed to be.

“ _Why… Why don’t we sit down?”_ He asked, gesturing at the top of the staircase. He felt Eodwulf nod against his skin.

Fumbling, as Eodwulf seemed entirely unwilling to let go, Caleb managed to maneuver the both of them so they were sitting atop the staircase, side by side, and Caleb gave him time to cry. Eodwulf leaned his head on Caleb’s shoulder, trying his best to hide his face.

He stared off down the staircase, where he could just barely see the corner of Nott’s ear, flush against the wall, but nearly entirely out of sight. Hanging at the periphery, just in case. He could hear the others speaking, but didn’t care to listen closely enough to figure out what was being said. He didn’t think he would ever be able to thank any of them enough for letting him drag them all to this inn.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, until Eodwulf’s sobs subsided into sniffles before going silent entirely, but his head never left Caleb’s shoulder. It was nostalgic, in a twisted way.

Eodwulf mumbled something into Caleb’s shoulder.

“ _What was that?”_ Caleb asked, and he realized that Eodwulf was breathing heavily.

 _“I said let’s kill him,”_ Eodwulf snarled, his voice low and edged with jagged, cold hate.

“ _What?”_ Caleb hissed back, and for the first time since he stumbled into Caleb’s arms, Eodwulf moved on his own. His shoulders rose more like they were being pulled along strings, and Eodwulf could only control them secondhand. He slid his arms down, grabbing Caleb’s arm tight by his coat, while his hand fell atop Caleb’s and squeezed tight. Eodwulf lifted his face, revealing unmasked _contempt_ , whirling in his eyes, grit between his teeth, and splattered across his face like blood on snow.

 _“Trent,”_ Eodwulf growled through teeth, his breath flatering like he was about to break down once more, but the rage overpowered it, pulsing out in waves like blood from a wound. _“Let’s fucking kill him. Make-- Make him regret ever being fucking born, for… for everything he did to us. Everything. Pay him_ _**back** for everything he _ _**took** from us.”  _

Impossible.

 What Eodwulf was saying was impossible.

 _“I… I don’t…”_ Caleb shook his head, minutely, but Eodwulf didn’t seem to notice, as he grip on Caleb’s arm grew tighter like encroaching frost.

 _“We could do it,”_ Eodwulf ducked his head down, leaning in close and his voice falling into a whisper. _“You’re… you’re_ **_you._** _And I’m-- I’ve got experience. He taught me how to best do it, and I learned how to do it_ **_better._** _You and me. We could-- we could do this… we could do this.”_

Of course, Caleb had the same thought, at times. 

Before he was Caleb Widogast, and when he was still just the ghost of Bren Ermendrud, he’d thought, and fantasized, and dreamed about it at length. But the problem was that it was so utterly beyond him-- or anyone-- to make an attempt on Trent Ikithon’s life, that it was a thought he had abandoned long ago. Trent Ikithon was counted among the strongest people in the empire, in both magical prowess and political force; enough to have people executed for any crime he decided he wished them to die for, and do it himself if he so desired. Caleb would not count himself as very stable man, but he knew well enough that the pursuit of Trent Ikithon’s head was, charitably, suicide.

If he couldn’t see that, Eodwulf was even worse. Maybe it was just the liquor talking. Maybe not. Caleb didn’t know. Caleb had no doubts that his old friend had grown more powerful over the years-- but surely not enough to be much beyond a nuisance to Trent Ikithon. It was still impossible. Still madness. Still treason.

Caleb glanced down the stairwell, where he could still hear his friend voices, still see the tip of Nott’s ear. Blissfully unaware, for the moment, of what was happening, all of them potential collateral. If Eodwulf was willing to try to make claim on Trent Ikithon’s life, what _else_ could be capable of, if pushed any further along the edge?

 Caleb couldn’t risk finding out.

“ _Sure, of course, sure,”_ Caleb placated, trying to keep his voice level. _“That’s an idea, but, Eodwulf… you’re very drunk right now.”_

Strangely, the fight seemed to fade from Eodwulf’s frame, and he sniffed, shrugging.

“ _I guess…_ ” Eodwulf muttered, the anger already bled out of his tone.

 _“Why don’t we… get you a little more sobered up, yeah? Maybe you should-- should rest some more as well. A nap, perhaps.”_ Caleb tried his best to sound encouraging in spite of his brittle tone, as he placed a hand on top of Eodwulf’s. _“When you’re a little more clear headed, we can talk some more. Does that sound good to you?”_

 _“Yeah…”_ Eodwulf agreed, and leaned forward, his head plopping lightly back onto Caleb’s shoulder, boneless. It was as though his little mad outburst had sapped away whatever strength he had left, leaving him quiet and quelled, for the time being. “... _Bren?”_

Caleb could feel himself starting to tense, but he held it back. _“Yes?”_

_“...I missed you.”_

Caleb pursed his lips tight, thankful Eodwulf couldn’t see his face. He wished his answer could be more simple than it was, or could make things easier, but life was never that kind. Not to him.

 _“I missed you too,”_ Caleb said, speaking nothing short of the most foolhardy truth he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Yasha part of this chapter was originally gonna happen earlier but I pushed it back. This was a good descision as I want to dig at everyone's still-fresh wounds from episode 69.
> 
> Meanwhile... It's taken some time to get there, but now we can finally dig into the meat of this fic. Oh Caleb, Buddy, that's some optimism you have there, thinking that it's just the booze talking.


	8. Detect Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for how long this took. I expected that this chapter would be so much shorter then it was. Instead it's the NEW longest chapter in the fic. God. If yall love sad wizards talking about their feelings, and trying to get on the same page after 16 years apart, this is it fam.
> 
> Katt, however, has an excellent reason why there is only one art for this chapter, beyond the fact that this chapter honestly just sorta doesn't lend much to art. She made an AMAZING 15 page comic rendition of the scene of Fjord in the Forge from episode 72! You can check it out here (also TW for blood, self harm, and an implied threat of suicide): https://happikattwuzheere.tumblr.com/post/186944947199/i-think-this-was-episode-73-i-think-it-was-73

_Eodwulf was taking too long._

_Punctuality was a good virtue to a_ Vollstrecker _; It was something Eodwulf would need to work on in the future--he’d grown accustomed to being around someone who always had the time ticking away in the back of his mind on a perpetual metronome, and he was lost without it. But Bren could stow his critiques for later, once they had done what was needed, and once they had a moment to breathe. He’d been pushing too hard lately. They would have time to learn more. To improve. To grow even more powerful._

 _The low chirping of the crickets, the babble of the stream that bordered the edge of the forest, and incessant low whistle of the harsh wind was making Bren’s implants itch, gnawing on his patience. With the moons hidden behind clouds, a part of him longed to cast_ Dancing Lights _, to keep a better lookout, but they needed the cover of darkness. This needed to be as clean as possible._

_Astrid made a choked back noise at his side, and Bren could just barely see her silhouette shifting in the dark. Her arms still crossed tight, and her body tense, like the slow arrival of a shelf of storm clouds before the first drop of rain. Her hand gripping the side of her head by her too-short hair._

_She had done her job splendidly. But even Bren could feel his stomach turn at the memory. For a fast acting poison, time had never seemed to stretch so slow as it had when Mr. and Mrs. Volkmaler choked on their last meal._

_The life of a_ Vollstrecker _could be messy, demanding, and dangerous. They had all known that since their training began in earnest. Comforting her now… there would be no point. What was important was that the Empire was just that much safer now than it had been before. That was all that mattered. She knew that too, she just needed time._

_He spared her a second glance, even still. Anticipation burned in his stomach like coals._

_He heard a rustle in the brush, and he saw a non distinct mound of shadow approaching them. Bren tensed. There were to be no witnesses. Such were master’s orders. He gripped his crystalline focus, and held his breath._

_As the shadow marched towards them with purpose, the moon broke through the cover of clouds it had been hiding behind, briefly illuminating an unfamiliar face. But just as soon as it did, the face peeled away, and the illusion lost substance, scattering like smoke in the wind, revealing Eodwulf underneath. His eyes shone green in the pale light of the moon, potent as venom, but his expression neutral, looking down._

__

_“How did it go?” Bren asked._

_“It’s done,” Eodwulf said, keeping his eyes down._

_“You confirmed the death of the targets?”_

_“Of course,” Eodwulf said as he marched past Astrid and Bren and walked towards the stream, where he knelt along its banks. Bren watched his boyfriend cup some water between his hands and splash it on his face. “They never even woke up.”_

_“And your brothers?”_

_“Still asleep. I checked.” Eodwulf splashed more water on his face, and scoffed. “I guess I didn’t need to be disguised after all.”_

_“It was a good idea regardless, Wulf,” Bren offered. “If your brothers had been woken, it would have kept them out of this.”_

_Eodwulf hummed noncommittally, and Bren furrowed his brow. He gave a sidelong glance to Astrid, who didn’t seem to be listening at all, and joined Eodwulf at the bank of the stream, watching the other stare into it, ignoring his approach. Bren crouched down, gave the other a  gentle squeeze on the shoulder, and Eodwulf finally turned to look at him._

_He looked… tired. So much more so than he had before._

_“You did what needed to be done,” Bren said, his squeeze tightening, as he gave the other a slight nod. “You did a good job. I’m proud of you.”_

_Eodwulf pursed his lips, and returned the nod. He lifted his hand up to place it over Bren’s as he looked away, back towards the direction of the Dieshafer family farm for just a moment._

_Eodwulf was a different case among the three of them. He had other family who would never know the truth, and would grieve for his parents, in spite of their hidden, treasonous inclinations. Eodwulf had agreed with Master Ikithon’s assessment that being surreptitious as possible and leaving the rest of his family in the dark was the better option. Less shame. Eodwulf already told him he had no intention to return once he had done what was needed._

_Probably why he took a bit of extra time. Silent goodbyes._

_He heard Eodwulf take in a deep, long breath, before he turned back to face him, his expression now firm, jaw set with the same resolve and purpose he had on his face before he went to eliminate his targets. But, tiredness still peaked out from the corners of his expression, in the subtle ways that Bren doubted anyone else would have ever caught, as well as a forlorn longing, like he did when he wanted something he felt like he couldn’t ask for._

_“You’re up next,” Eodwulf said, sounding breathless. “Are you ready?”_

_With the rising heat of anticipation burning within him, Bren nodded. He knew what he had to do._

_He was sure of it._

 

* * *

 

Caleb closed the door quietly behind him, careful not to startle Eodwulf awake after he had managed to lay him down to sleep off some of the mead. For just a brief moment, he checked on the other man using Frumpkin’s eyes, from the spot on the bedside he had asked Frumpkin to keep watch from. Thankfully, Eodwulf was still sleeping soundly, his expression almost serene, like a vestige of childhood memories applied to an older face, still blotchy from tears.

Caleb’s sight returned to his own eyes, and he ran his hands through his hair slowly, and began to pace along the hallway, as his tried to untangle the knots in his head. A fool’s errand.

Caleb was excellent at doubt. The doubt of others, the doubt of himself, and the doubt of choices, all snagged threads of thought to a stop in order to force him to re-evaluate. Doubt kept him steady when he couldn’t fall back on immutable, hard facts, made sure he kept his wits about him when he stepped into muddy uncertainties, until he could find himself again on steady ground. But this wasn’t a puddle of mud on the road he could swerve around. This was a bog stretching out in every direction with gnarled roots and thick grasses tangled into knots by doubt. All uncertainties and messy feelings. No ground for facts, burnt out of faith just to get here, and left only with doubt.

Eodwulf was distraught, understandably, but what he had said was beyond anything Caleb could expect. Even if he was just too drunk to grasp the impossibility, the contempt and hatred fueling it was _real_ . Eodwulf had always trusted like a stray cat, and Caleb had only ever seen one other time where he could say someone well and truly broke Eodwulf’s trust--Eodwulf’s parents, and that relationship had gone sour and ugly _long_ before any memories could be altered.

That wasn’t going to go away after a nap, and once he woke up, how easily would it be misdirected?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know Eodwulf anymore. Whatever guesses he could make were just that; to even call them educated would be a gross misrepresentation of how much he knew. It could be fine. All that was left was doubt.

Caleb felt his chest squeeze, and he closed his eyes. He felt increasingly turned around as he paced, feeling the rising boil of anxiousness press against his lungs, and the rush of blood starting to muffle his ears.

 _“Stop pacing around like an asshole, it’s not going to help anyone,”_ he commanded under his breath in Zemnian.

Caleb stopped short, and forced himself to take a deep breath. He opened his eyes, and found himself staring down the stairs. He could faintly hear the voices of the others--Jester and Beau, he believed--drifting upstairs, unaware of the potential risks and dangers that had grown in around them. He could no longer see the corner of Nott’s ear standing at the end of the stairwell, but he didn’t doubt she was still hanging nearest to the door. They must have all been waiting on him for word.

“Well, you dragged them into this mess...” Caleb muttered to himself, and shook his head. He owed them an explanation or… _something_. While small snippets at the start of his and Eodwulf’s conversation were in Common, there was nothing substantive said that they understood. He was frankly getting a little exhausted from all the explanations he’d had to do over the last two days, but that was no one’s fault but his own.

Well… Eodwulf didn’t help, that was for sure.

He checked on Eodwulf one last time through Frumpkin’s eyes, before he began to descend the stairs, bracing himself for the flood of questions to come.

“--how can you be like, _sure,_ though?” Jester’s voice came into focus as Caleb made his way slowly down the stairs.

“Cause I… grew up here?” Beauregard explained, sounding just a bit confused. “Cinnamon’s not local, so it’s like, way fuckin’ expensive, and the breweries always have the first pick of supplies that comes up from the coast, so a place like this? Pretty unlikely to have any on hand they’d be willing to let you just add.”

“Well that’s a shame, cinnamon is a wonderful spice, especially at this time of the season,” Caduceus mused thoughtfully. “Someone’s coming down the stairs, by the way.”

“What?” Nott yelped, and Caleb heard the telltale sound of several chair legs being scraped along the floorboards. He pulled a face, for a moment considering lingering just out of sight so he wouldn’t have to enter in as the center of attention yet again, but he decided against it.

Caleb made it to the bottom of the stairs, and spotted his friends, huddled away at a corner table that looked like it was intended to fit about four, but they made six work, with an extra vacant chair crammed in. Though the Innkeeper was nowhere to be seen, they had managed to get themselves a few drinks and snacks while Caleb had been busy trying to get Eodwulf to lie down. The others had turned to look at him, but Jester had sat up from her chair so she could peer over Yasha’s shoulder, her tail flicking about behind her, and Nott had jumped out of her chair entirely, clutching a copper wire in hand, like she had been waiting to cast _Message_. It didn’t occur to him until this moment how much he appreciated the absolute privacy that they had allotted him while he dealt with Eodwulf. While it wasn’t necessary, the gesture was… appreciated.

“How did it go?” Nott asked first, his expression half obscured by her porcelain mask, but her eyes were wide and prying. “What did--where’s Eodwulf?”

“He is still upstairs, asleep,” Caleb said, as he approached, and wound up gently guiding Nott back to the seat she had stood from, before taking the vacant seat left next to hers. “Talking would be, ah... something of an impossibility, as he is right now. He is, um…”

“Kinda messed up about stuff?” Jester suggested with a frown as she sat back down.

“Shitfaced?” Beau offered.

“Both understatements.” Caleb nodded, and nearly snapped his fingers to return Frumpkin to his side out of habit, but stopped before he could tense his fingers, pursing his lips. “He… well, you all caught some of it. He is, um… _unstable._ Talking nonsense. Not to mention that when I checked the room he had been using, it seemed as though he had already finished two bottles of mead, and had been working on the third when we showed up.”

Beau sucked in air through her teeth, grimacing. “Fuck, yeah, he’s gotta be trashed.”

“Two bottles this early?” Nott winced. “I don’t think I drank that much on the ocean, and the ocean was just… _always_ awful, all the time.”

“ _Ja_ .” Caleb stared down hard at the table, his fingers tense. “As I said, understatement _._ ”

“He gonna be alright on his own up there?” Fjord asked, raising an eyebrow as he crossed his arms.

“Frumpkin is in the room, keeping an eye on him.” Caleb nodded slowly. “Should anything change, he will warn me, but uh, I do not plan to stay down here for long. There are just… some matters that I need to discuss, and I assumed some of you might have, eh… Additional questions, now that we are. Here, for now.”

“Well I mean,” Jester said with a frown, “Is he gonna be like, _okay_ though? Physically, I mean. Cause like, we were like talking to the innkeeper and stuff, and he said that he tried to cut Eodwulf off last night, but he snuck more booze when he wasn’t looking, and he threw up like, twice.”

“I forced him to drink from my waterskin.” Caleb sighed. “Drunk as he is, I do not believe he has gone past his limits quite yet… though I am no doctor, he seemed fine.”

“I have something that should be able to cleanse his body,” Caduceus offered. “I could take a look at him, see if it is a necessity--”

“No,” Caleb cut him off, and then winced, shrinking back. “Eh--apologies Caduceus, but, I do not think it is a good idea for any of you to interact with him right now. He is, as I said, not very stable at the moment.”

“Wait,” Nott said, straightening, “what do you mean by ‘not very stable’? Is-- is it safe for you to be with him, all alone?”

“Me? Yes. Eodwulf and I have… history. And he has made it clear to me that, regardless of the time passed, he still seems to--” Caleb swallowed a thick knot in his throat, and itch cracking under his skin like sparks, “--Care, to some extent. Especially now that he knows the truth, and has no reason to assume I am… any crazier than what is normal. But the rest of you, that is… not so clear. He had always been wary of others, and now he has just learned a, ah, _pivotal_ moment in his life had been built around a lie. Pushing him with introductions and new faces right now seems. Unwise. I will handle him for the time being; hopefully once his head has been cleared he will be more reasonable, but for right now I am just trying not to upset him.”

“And if he decides he wants to come down and talk to us on his own?” Beau asked, glancing at the staircase. “He seemed pretty fuckin’ confrontational the last time we saw him. Before he like, collapsed in your arms sobbing. Just saying.”

“Yes, well.” Caleb cleared his throat. “That actually brings me to my second point. If he does try to speak with any of you, I would advise against outright rejection whenever possible. He… never handled it well.” Caleb swallowed tightly again, an itch pulsing under his skin. “He may be fine, but you cannot assume what that what you see is Eodwulf’s reaction to anything. It could be far more severe than anything you could determine with your eyes alone.”

“We get it man, he’s a good liar,” Beau deadpanned. “I don’t think any of us are gonna trust anything he says, since you keep _talking_ about it.”

“Yeah, we’ll watch him like a _hawk_ . I’m _really_ good at telling if someone is lying,” Jester said, her eyes narrowing and grinning a small, but mischief-made smile for just a moment, before her expression cleared. “But we’ll be extra nice to him too and stuff, unless he like, starts being a dick to you again.”

“No, that’s not--” Caleb started to say and cut himself off with a resigned grunt, his finger idly scratching at the lip of the bandages wrapped around his right arm. The itch under his skin pulsed again. He dug his finger further under the bandages, and held it there for just a second, feeling the others stares upon him, as he pressed the bandages up away from the ugly, marred skin underneath, hesitating for just a moment to take a deep breath. He looked about the room for any sign of the Innkeeper, but the proprietor of the Knave’s Goblet seemed to still be elsewhere. He should be vague, regardless. “It would be easier to show all of you.” 

Caleb tugged hard at the bandages, until the first strip came loose, and fell limp down his arm, displaying the first of many chakly scarlines underneath. Slowly, he started to unwrap his arm, trying to ignore the crawl of the others eyes on his arm, worsening the itch below.

“While we were under that man’s training, once the three of us had proven ourselves in certain ways, we had a… an experimental procedure done on us,” Caleb droned, pushing back memories of those tiny, innocent-looking crystals, no bigger than his fingernail, sutures, needles, blood-stained bandages, and the approving smile of that man. That wasn’t important. “Where an array of specialized arcane crystals were implanted into our bodies, to um, give us an edge, as it were. Though, mine were removed at some point when I was… not so put together.”

He brandished his arm so everyone could see, casting a second glance over his shoulder for any signs of the innkeeper again, just to be safe.

“He performed _experiments on you?_ ” Nott asked, horror clear in her voice. “Why didn’t you mention that before?”

“It wasn’t relevant.” Caleb said with a slight shrug.

“Do… do they hurt?”

“No.” Caleb said, glancing slightly in Nott’s direction, her eyes trained on his ragged, hideous arm, eyes wide and mouth gaping. He swallowed thickly, pulling his arm back down, and cleared his throat, shooting a shaky glance at the others to ensure they were still following along. Nott was not the only one who looked disgusted.

“And these crystals,” Fjord asked, unfolding his arms and leaning forward, his eyes trained on the criss-crossing lines along his arm. “what-- what _were_ they? What did they _do_ , exactly?” 

“We were not told what they were.” Caleb admitted. “It was classified. But, what they did was allow us to, ah... _modify_ our spells. By channeling ambient arcane energy, we could change our spells, and make them different, in a way similar to how our friend Calianna could cast her spells with great speed. In my case, I could make my spells more powerful or more focused, but in Eodwulf’s case, he could utilize some of his implants to act as stand-ins for somatic gestures and arcane words as he cast his spells.”

“Oh…” Nott said quietly under her breath, nodding along, and then stopped suddenly, and he could see the little cogs sliding into place and opening up a sea of implications before her. “Ohhhh, that’s…”

“Wait a minute,” Jester leaned in, shooting a glance at Fjord, who’s eyes were steadily widening, as if to confirm she had heard correctly. “So then like, couldn’t he just like, cast spells and stuff on us, and we wouldn’t even know? Like, _any_ spell?”

Caleb nodded,  “ _Ja,_ or once per day, at least. That is how it worked when we were in training. After that one, it could be hazardous to continue trying, but I do not know if that is still the case.” Caleb swallowed the tight sensation in his throat and the racing pulse of an itch remembering pain along his arms. “He would still need material components for any spells requiring them, or a focus, which I do not doubt he has on his person.”

“You said that he uses some of his implants to do that,” Beauregard said, wary. “As in, he can do more, right?”

“Yes,” Caleb sighed, “Though, the latter is somewhat less concerning in the circumstance; he is able to use the other array to cast spells that usually only have one target on two instead. Though, he cannot make use of both arrays at the same time… or couldn’t, at least.”

An uneasy silence settled over the table. Caleb ducked his head down, grabbed the loose length of his bandages, and began to wrap them back around his arm. He took the opportunity to quickly check on Eodwulf through Frumpkin’s eyes, and found the other man was still fast asleep. When his senses returned to his body, the table was still quiet, and he could feel the air beginning to sour thanks to him.

“Eh… Apologies, I do not wish to frighten all of you, but I… I do not know how Eodwulf will act once he is sober.” Caleb hunched his shoulders, staring down at the table, speculation of what Eodwulf could do to any number of them still buzzing in the back of his mind. “So. Just. Trying to prepare for the worst.”

“While I don’t suppose there’s any harm in preparing for the worst,” Caduceus said, tilting his head slightly. “The Wildmother didn’t mention that this place held any dangers.”

“Would she have?”

“I’d like to think so,” Caduceus smiled.

Caleb found that faith… enviable, in a way. But it brought him little comfort.

“I mean, has he actually like, said anything about us since he had his memories zapped?” Beau said, tilting her head back. “Sure, he was a fuckin’ asshole towards us before he knew what was actually going on on, but, from his perspective…” She trailed off, shrugging a shoulder. “I dunno, sounds to me that he’s really got no reason to be pissed at us anymore.”

“Yeah, I mean, what _has_ he said?” Nott asked, but her eyes still trained on the scars as he hid them under bandages. “We sort of caught some, like his apologies before you started talking Zemnian, and, well, the crying’s pretty hard to miss, but what did he actually _say_?”

“We um.” Caleb palmed the nape of his neck, looking down at the floor, “We did not talk much. I mostly just tried to get him to sleep. What little he did say was either reiteration of facts that you all already know, or just… nonsense.”

“What kind of nonsense?” Beauregard asked with a squint.

“Nothing that bears repeating.” Caleb said quickly, shaking his head. “I think it may have just been the alcohol talking. It was senseless. Jabber.”

“Was it like that one time when you were really really drunk and started singing?” Jester asked with a conspiratorial grin.

“...No. Nothing like that,” Caleb mumbled, feeling his face warm slightly before he could continue. “But, Beauregard, while you are right, it is not that I believe he is still angry with all of you, as much as I am concerned that the rest of you may become victims of misdirected anger. Eodwulf has never been trusting and, believe me, what he has gone through, it-- it has a way of making one paranoid.”

“That makes sense…” Yasha said quietly before looking down and away from the rest of the group, discomfort threading through her posture. 

As Caleb cast a glance around the table, he realized she was not the only one. Varying mixtures of frustration, unease, and concern, had made its way to the faces of all of his friends once again. He should go. He could already feel his words wearing thin, and he would need them later.

“Well,” Caleb stood up, “On that note, unless there is any other pressing questions, I will be returning to watch over Eodwulf until he wakes up.”

“Oh, wait!” Jester said, perking up. “There was something we were talking about that we kinda wanted to know how you felt since its kinda weird.”

Caleb blinked at her. “Yes?”

Jester opened her mouth and took in a breath, her eyes flicking back and forth before settling on Nott and widening meaningfully. Nott stared back, her head bobbing from side to side and her mouth turned in an uncertain grimace. Jester leaned forward, her lips pursed together and widened her eyes further and gestured vaguely at Caleb.

“ _Nott,_ ” Jester insisted, her voice low.  Nott let out something between a groan and a sigh, slumping.

“What is happening?” Caleb asked, lost.

“Caleb, well…” Nott grimaced. “We were actually wondering if you still… _want_ us to call you Caleb?”

Caleb’s mind jerked to a halt, and the air in his lungs seemed to vanish without cause. His mouth dropped open, creating nothing but the sound of dead air. “Uhhhh,” he said, stupidly.

“Because, I mean,” Nott continued, heedless, “If you’ve just been going by Caleb ever since you escaped, I mean, if you’re just used to it by now, then we can just stick with it.”

“Yeah!” Jester agreed with a nod, “But like, since we all know now, if you want we could all totally start calling you Bren--”

“No!” Caleb interrupted, a sudden and wild urgency pushing the words out of his mouth, that quickly crashed down into embarrassment at the outburst. Shrinking, he sat back down in his chair. “Ah… no. No. I only started calling myself Caleb Widogast because it was just…” He turned slightly to look at Nott. “The first name I thought of when you asked. Before then I went by any name but my own, didn’t matter what, but then… we never parted was so…”

Caleb sighed, finding himself unable to look away from the little goblin at his side, her eyes so wide and accepting without judgement as if it was second nature to her. For a long time now, he had kept a slow boil of guilt in his chest for hiding the truth from her as long as he did, and when he did come clean he neglected to tell her the full truth in some of the simplest yet most vital of ways. In the face of it, he could feel that simmer of emotions boil over in his chest, and he ducked down, turning away from the group to face her and her alone.

“And Nott,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, featherlight and easy to shrug off, “I hope that you do not think that the reason I never told you about that was because I was distrusting of you. Perhaps at first, _ja,_ but over the months we have spent together, you have more than earned that honesty. The only reason I kept up the lie was that no good would ever come of that name. I hope you do not think ill of me for keeping it from you for so long.”

Nott gaped at him for a few long seconds, before jerking her eyes away from him suddenly and saying: “No, yeah, that’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Guilt met with guilt, he realized. He furrowed his brow, but let the moment pass. He had told her so many times she could speak to him about anything, and yet…

“But,” Nott continued, her eyes shifting back to him, somewhat hopeful, “It definitely explains why you looked at me like that in the swamp.”

“Yes, that was.” Caleb huffed out a sardonic, loose equivalent of a laugh. “A bit of a shock. You were probably the last person I had ever expected to say that name. I very nearly keeled over whenever it was said.”

“Sounds to me you prefer to be Caleb, then,” Nott said with a quirk to the corner of her mouth.

Caleb couldn’t help but agree, oddly enough. For a name he had pulled from thin air almost a full year ago, it had somehow managed to take a life of its own in the process. A better life than the ashes left to the name Bren Aldric Ermendrud; one surrounded with strange circumstance and even stranger people. Caleb Widogast, in spite of everything, and even with the truth of him now bared, had more to him than just lost potential and chains of charred bones, and that made his stomach and chest twist in a way he could never hope to articulate.

“That would probably be safer, yes,” Caleb said instead, before turning to the rest of the group. “And that goes for all of you as well. It was foolish of me to think it would never become relevant. I should have at least warned you all that people who knew that name were dangerous and should be avoided at all costs. All the same… _danke._ ”

Oddly enough, he was met with six nodding heads. Even Fjord, though his was more subdued than the others.

“And you know, you don’t _have_ to go by Caleb if you don’t want to anymore either!” Jester assured quickly with a bright smile, “You could like, pick out whatever name you want to be called, or one you really like, and that’s what we’ll call you, just like I did!”

“Ah… thank you Jester but that is not necessary.” Caleb waved her off. “Caleb has worked well enough.”

“Wait a minute.” Nott gave Jester a wide-eyed look. “You _chose_ your name?”

“Well, yeah!” She nodded “Jester. Did you think my momma named me that?”

“Ohh yeah.” Beau snapped her fingers. “I remember hearing something about lots of tieflings doing that. You call ‘em like… Virtue names or something, right?”

“Yeah, but like I mean I don’t think it should _have_ to be a tiefling thing.” Jester rolled her eyes, “Cause like, everyone should be able to be called what they want, you know?”

“Wait, so, Jester isn’t your real--” Fjord started to say, but Jester cut him off

“Jester _is_ my real name,” She said warningly. 

“... Of course, Jessi--” Fjord cleared his throat. “Jester.” 

Jester nodded and smirked at him approvingly, Fjord opened his mouth to speak again, but, perhaps wisely, closed it again.

“Right.” Caleb stood back up. “Then I will return to Eodwulf. Much as Frumpkin is a good watchman, I do not think it would be good if Eodwulf woke up with only him as company.” He turned back to Nott, pointing a finger at her. “We can give one-another updates though _Message_ if anything out of the ordinary happens. I will send you one once Eodwulf is awake, alright?”

“You got it.” Nott grinned, pilling her copper wire back out of her pocket. “ _Caleb._ ”

How she had managed to reach a place in his heart where she could melt it with a single word was something Caleb wasn’t sure he could ever trace back in his memory. In spite of himself, he gave her a small smile, pulled out his own copper wire to match hers, and nodded once. He turned to the faces of his other friends-- _Caleb Widogast’s_ friends, and gave another nod before he turned to head back up the stairs, and his face fell.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Caleb Widogast’s best was enough to keep them safe from Bren Ermendrud’s living past.

It would have to be.

 

* * *

 

Eodwulf was not a stranger to hangovers. 

The pounding on his head from all angles, the stiffness in his joints, the taste of vomit in his mouth, the rumbling, painful twists in his gut, the pinch between his eyebrows like someone had stuck a dagger there, and the warning pulse behind his eyes that kept them closed were all symptoms he had become intimately familiar. His head felt blurry and fuzzy, like some lingering alcohol was still pooling in the back of his mind waiting to be drained out, and left him unable to pull any clear memories to mind, like he was blindly groping for something made of smoke. 

“...waking up…” A voice, a hair above a whisper, like something that might have just been a dream, muttered nearby, rousing him further. Eodwulf’s brow twitched.

In spite of the warning, he opened his eyes, and light poured into them like molten rock, flowing through his veins from the back of his eyes and raining down on the back of his skull against the oppressive pressure of his headache. Color swirled senseless in his vision for a moment as he groaned from the pain and a newfound vertigo and nausea. He closed his eyes once more until the dizzying sensation subsided, and then cracked only one open. The fuzzy picture slowly came into focus, and he found himself face to face with… a cat. An orange-brown tabby with a bit of white around the mouth.

Eodwulf closed his eye, taking a deep breath as he shifted slightly. He didn’t really know what the cat was doing here, but he had always been fond of cats, so he wasn’t about to question it.  It looked somewhat familiar, with the little tufts of white in its ears, and long whiskers… and its orange eyes just like…

Eodwulf forced both of his eyes open, a frown on his face, and started into the impassive face of a cat that should be very, very dead.

“...Frumpkin?” Eodwulf croaked, blinking several times for good measure.

The cat blinked back just once, and her tail swished just slightly above her. That meant she was glad to see him, Bren had told him that no less than a hundred times.

Bren... Like errant sparks on cured hay, the memories of what had happened before he had been laid down to sleep ignited in his mind. Bren came! Where was-- The _voice!_

He jolted from his spot on the bed-- the one at the inn-- the one he rented and waited in for Bren to come and find him. Frumpkin jumped from the spot she had been sitting with a _mrrp_ , hopped off the bed, and in a short bound, lept up into the waiting lap of a man who sat in a chair, no more than five feet away, a book in his hands.

Eodwulf watched as Bren glanced down just slightly as Frumpkin settled into his lap, before he lifted his head to look at Eodwulf, his expression impossible to read, and slowly closed his book.

He looked… different. Eodwulf vaguely felt like he had realized this earlier, but now, even with the hangover slamming into the back of his eyes like a hammer, he could finally take stock of the differences. The unkempt beard and hair he had noticed when he first encountered Bren at the camp, but now he could really see how limp and messy they both were. The beard was the strangest of all-- Bren had always been so particular about staying clean-shaven when they were younger. His clothes were tattered and filthy, and now he could see they were caked in dirt and grime, like something Astrid might have worn when they were children. His face had accrued new wrinkles since the last time he had seen him, in tandem with the beard making him look a good few years older than 33. He was holding a copper wire in one hand, which he swiftly put into his coat pocket.

But it was _definitely_ Bren. Those sharp blue eyes, which only held his gaze for an accidental moment before breaking away to look over his shoulder, didn’t lie. Eodwulf found himself transfixed, pushing himself halfways upright.

“Bren…you’re--” Eodwulf was cut off by a grunt of pain as the hammering at the back of his eyes suddenly transitioned into a stabbing pain, and he had to jam his eyes shut as he faltered, his arms buckling under him before he could push himself up any further. Eodwulf pressed the base of his palm into one of his eyes, as if pushing back against the pain.“ _Schieße--_ Ugh, fuck…” 

He heard the creak of wood, and the sound of footsteps approaching, and… the sound of Bren’s voice. 

“Here, drink this.”

He hadn’t had time to appreciate that voice before, with everything going on, not for more than just an instant… In Common again, rather than the distant, amber-hazy echo of him speaking soothing Zemanian in his ear. It was no less heartwarming to hear, even through the hangover. It was… quieter than he remembered. Whispery. But still sweet as honey.

He needed it to stay. It had kept him steady once upon a time, a lifeline when all else failed. 

Eodwulf cracked an eye open again, and looked at the waterskin being presented to him. Eodwulf found himself chuckling, easy mirth crawling out of his mouth in that reliable way he had learned that made him seem presentable and amiable, even if he was in agony.

“I’ve had this dream before,” Eodwulf’s mouth joked with the right subtle edge that implied that this was business as usual, nothing to be worried about, as he grabbed the waterskin and shut his eyes again. “Don’t wake me if that’s the case.”

Eodwulf uncapped the waterskin and took a few long gulps. Even that was stomach churning. A new wave of nausea rippled through him.

“Well! I think I’m gonna be sick.” Eodwulf’s lungs sighed airily. He jammed his fingers into the shallow of his eye socket just above his eye, pushing back against the pain. It felt good, like scratching an itch.

“I have the bucket you threw up in earlier, if you need it.”

“I threw up in a bucket earlier?” Eodwulf wondered with a frown, careful to keep his tone marveling and curious instead of confused and fumbling.

“... How much do you remember?”

“Uhhh…” Eodwulf’s hands raised to try to rub at his eyes, trying to rack his brain as gently as possible for memories, so it wouldn’t stir up any troublesome ones, and so only a few disjointed flashes came to mind. “Enough…? I remember… you showing up, and... I think I collapsed in your arms at some point, sorry, and then… I said-- I _think_ I said…” Eodwulf forced himself to open his eyes again, in spite of the pain, and found himself staring up at Bren, looming at his bedside his face aglow with concern. Eodwulf felt a reassuring smile slip onto his face like cold porcelain. “I said I’m sorry, right? Pretty huge egg on my face if I didn’t.”

Bren stared at him for a few long seconds, his eyes searching for something. Eodwulf wanted it to stop.

“I remember something about that,” Bren said, his mouth thinning into something not-a-smile. That wasn’t right. Eodwulf could feel the water he drank freezing in the back of his throat, catching.

“Oh… Good,” Eodwulf found himself saying, his eyes fluttering shut, the air in his chest coming out cold on his throat, and he forced his limbs to move, like tugging them along a string until he had propped himself upright.  He pulled his legs up, and ignore the inconvenient aches and pains of the hangover that pleaded with him to lie back down and close his eyes and drink more water. “Good. Because I am. Sorry, I mean.”

Bren said nothing. 

Eodwulf gave in to what his eyes demanded and let them shut again. He could feel the heat of Bren’s blue eyes burning into his chest even as ice tried to spread into his veins, sending chills along his skin.

“About, you know,” Eodwulf swallowed thickly, trying to dance around something with his eyes closed, keeping a smile frozen on his face. He had a lot to be sorry for. From even before he killed his parents, apparently, and so much more ever since. “Everything that-- that’s happened”

Bren said nothing.

Eodwulf felt something crack in his chest under Bren’s scorching scrutiny, like a thin sheet of ice over a lake, sending the inky water spilling out and over through the cracks. Eodwuld swallowed again, but it caught in his throat, his smile faltering, and his mouth going tacky. He felt like he was going to be sick.

“The--” Eodwulf’s voice said, and the sole word somehow managed to steal all the breath from his lungs. He tried to pull the smile back onto his face, but that too was melting under the heat of Bren’s silence, so he ducked his head down. “I mean, the-- all the…the...”

Eodwulf felt strange. Like the words had frozen to his mouth. That had never happened before. He wasn’t like Astrid and Bren, and how they could run low on words. But he couldn’t force his voice up a pitch to something cheerful and easy, and make the words come. He could feel more of the dark water leaking out of the cracks, leaving his chest feeling heavy and wet, and rising up his throat, mixing with the nausea and aches and pains into something uniquely toxic.

“Eodwulf,” Bren said, his voice just a bit louder. Stronger. Still different, but filled with that same nostalgic kindness he remembered. Eodwulf felt a hand on his shoulder. “I remember what it was like for me. You can stop acting.”

Eodwulf lifted his head, and as he opened his eyes, tears spilled out with little fanfare. He ignored the pain of the light, and how the world blurred from his tears as he came eye to eye with Bren’s face, his eyes downcast and _knowing_ . For a brief moment, they  upward, and locked with his, his new wrinkles crinkling the faint freckles on his weathered skin, flooding his blue eyes with understanding, and Eodwulf was _seen_.

In a broken sound between a humorless laugh and a sob, Eodwulf placed his hand on top of Bren’s, lacing his fingers between before he lifted it away, clasping in between his other hand. It was worn. Calloused and cracking all over the palms and fingers. It hadn’t been like that in the asylum. Bren’s hands in the asylum were still soft.

Seven years is such a long time. Sixteen even more.

“I’m sorry,” Eodwulf croaked, all of the happiness bled out of his voice as he let out a gasp, and pressed Bren’s hand clutched between his against his forehead, his head throbbing with pain. His words flooded back out, fast and wet and painful as his accent coming in harsh and thick, unable to keep his words crisp. “Bren, I’m _so sorry_ , I--I should have pushed harder-- _tried harder._   And I should have gotten you more treatment, hire clerics or something, and fuck whatever _Trent_ said. I should have been there for you, and I should have looked harder, and I should have realized, and I should have _known_ , I should have-- I should have-- _I should have--_ ”

Eodulf cut himself off with a sob, suddenly breathless as the words came too fast to his mouth and the tears continued to flow unbidden and his throat _burned_ . From alcohol, from the tears, from the scathing truth he’d been trying to avoid. He sucked in a shaky breath of air, and squeezed Bren’s hand _harder_.

“I should have listened to you,” Eodwulf admitted, his cheek throbbing. “Then and now and I should have _believed_ you when you said Trent, he-- and I was gonna take you back to the fucking place _he_ put you in and I-- I--”

Eodwulf grit his teeth to choke back a sob, and jammed his eyes shut again, sniffling and gasping as the deluge washed in and _nothing_ was okay. Nothing was business as usual. Nothing to smile about. Nothing to joke about.

“Well,” Bren’s voice came again, quavering, but somehow still steadier than anything, “You did listen. In fact, you did exactly what I asked.”

“Not-- Not because I _believed_ you,” Eodwulf admitted between gasps. “I thought-- If I did what you asked, and proved you wrong you would-- you would see reason come with me and--”

“ _Ja,_ but you still did,” Bren interrupted. “Did you not?”

Eodwulf shook his head. He heard Bren sigh, and felt his arm shift, like he was getting impatient. But after a moment, he settled.

“May I sit?” Bren asked-- _asked_ , as if it was a legitimate question. Eodwulf nodded.

Eodwulf loosening his grip and unlacing their fingers for just a moment so Bren could sit without needing to contort his arm, and then immediately grabbed Bren’s hand again once he felt his weight fall onto the bed next to his own. Their shoulders bumped together, and Bren was quiet, allowing Eodwulf to continue to cry, next to him, shoulder to shoulder. Almost like it had been when they were children.

Eodwulf completely lost track of how long they sat there in silence, until Bren took it upon himself to speak, his voice was quiet but was backed with an intense, scorching certainty.

“Eodwulf. Even if you only did it because you thought I was mad, and only considered how you could convince me to go along with what you thought, you still tried to listen to what I asked of you. That is not… _nothing_. Even if something is done for the wrong reason, or-- or because you have been lied to. It is still done.” Bren paused for a moment, his voice had dipped down and slid into something new that sounded resigned and bitter and exhausted for just a moment, before it returned to being stable and nostalgic. “And now you are here. And now I am here, and find myself in a situation that I had always told myself was just... fairy tales and fool’s wishes. Because, for good or ill, you have decided to honor my request. It is a start.”

“What do you mean?” Eodwulf asked with a sniff, his eyelids fluttering even as they remained closed. “Fairy tales and-- what?”

“Ah… This, Eodwulf.” Bren lifted the hand Eodwulf held between his just slightly. “I had always told myself that that entertaining the idea of looking for you-- or for Astrid for that matter-- was at best a fool’s errand, and no different from giving myself over at worst.”

“What? Why?”

Bren made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat, his fingers fidgeting between Eodwulf’s like they always used to when he struggled with his words. Ignoring the promise of pain, Eodwulf cracked open his eyes, and saw Bren, his eyes distant, mouth open just a bit as he tried to force out words, blurred slightly through his watery eyes.

Eodwulf gave Bren’s hand a simple, small squeeze, and he watched the man’s head lift up just slightly.

“There was so much time I could not account for,” Bren said, his voice somehow bone dry and sopping wet at the same time. “Until the other night, I could not have said if the two of you were even still alive, and after all of the time that had passed, I had suspected that you would have moved on by now. I believed it unlikely that you would still… _care_.”

Eodwuf felt a tug on an age old heartstring in his chest that had weathered time and time again.

“Oh. Oh, Bren.” Eodwulf lifted his head up and opened his eyes further in spite of the thrumming pain. The other man’s expression in profile was just so… _resigned._ It brought a fresh well of tears to Eodwulf’s eyes to blink through. “Oh, Bren, _no_ . _Nein nein nein nein nein_ . Bren, of course-- of _course_ I still care. You’re-- you’re _you._ I couldn’t just stop, no matter how long it’d been. You’re family, and I love you _far_ too much for that.”

Bren searched Eodwulf’s face for a moment, and then cleared his throat as he glanced away. Shoulders rising, and his expression clouding.

“I did not say it was a current belief,”  Bren said slowly, like he did whenever he felt he needed to choose his words carefully. “There are a number of beliefs that I have been forced to realize were, eh, _faulty_ , these past few days.”

“I can relate,” Eodwulf muttered, and let his eyes slip back closed into the blissful dark, rubbing the tears away with the back of his wrist, sniffling, and let out a sigh. “But… good. That’s good. I’d have to be kicking myself a lot harder if that wasn’t the case. Already fucked this up enough as is.”

Bren took in a breath as if he was about to speak, but remained silent until Eodwulf heard him inhale once more. 

“You should, um, drink some more water, Eodwulf.”

“Ah, right…” Eodwulf groaned, and reluctantly pried one of his hands away from Bren’s, letting their joined hands fall limp between them. He had to grope blindly at his side for the waterskin for a moment, but then put it to his lips and took a fresh swig. He knew it would barely dent his hangover, but it was better than nothing. It being from Bren also helped, just a touch.

A small weight suddenly plopped next to him on the bed on the opposite side to Bren, and a moment later he felt something press up against his side. He cracked open an eye to confirm that it was indeed the same cat from earlier, bunting into his side just under his ribs with its  fuzzy little head. It purred. Eodwulf lowered the waterskin, and made a face.

“Uh… Bren?” Eodwulf asked, eyeing the cat warily though a lidded eye as it continued to bunt and purr.

“Hm?”

“I have some questions.” Eodwulf cleared his throat, his words coming out slow and tired, but less rough along the edges. “But, firstly… is that, ugh, this sounds ridiculous, is that... Frumpkin?”

“How-- Oh. Oh, um.” He heard Bren make an uncomfortable, uncertain sound in the back of his throat. “In a certain manner of speaking, that is correct.”

“Bren. I am _incredibly_ hungover...”

“That. is… My familiar, yes.” Bren admitted slowly. “He is… named and modeled after the Frumpkin you knew.”

Eodwulf blinked slowly, his already foggy head trying to process this new information as he stared at the cat. Tentatively, he put the waterskin down, and gave the new Frumpkin a scratch behind the ear. The purring grew just a bit louder.

“That’s a little bit fucked up, Bren,” Eodwulf said.

“ _Ja,_ well.” A wry smile that bordered on a sneer pressed Bren’s lips. “I am a little bit fucked up as well.” 

“I’m not sure what you…” Eodwulf trailed off, his eyes shifting back down to Frumpkin, and shook his head slowly, trying to clear out some of the fog. He took a deep breath, trying to dispel the last of the jittery feeling of rising water in his chest, and compose him. When he spoke again, his voice was soft but finally cleared from the aftershocks of crying. “It’s just something else I never expected to see again, is all.”

Bren didn’t seem to have anything to add to that, falling silent at his side. A part of Eodwulf lurched to try to keep the conversation going, so he could keep hearing Bren’s voice, continue to cement to himself that Bren was restored, but he abstained. There was once a time where silence was common between them, though not out of spite, but comfort. Back then, sometimes words were just window dressing; they understood each other well enough without them.

It might be a while before silence was all that needed to be said. He took what he could, sliding his fingers into the new Frumpkin’s fur, and gave him a tentative pet. The familiar’s purr grew a hair louder.

“Your voice is different.” Bren said, breaking the silence.

“I could the same to you.”

“No, well, yes, but uh, what I mean is-- your accent.” Bren said, shifting as if he was sitting up straighter, “It is gone… and before, the other night, it was gone as well.”

“Oh. Oh, right, that would be new for you, wouldn’t it?” Eodwulf blinked, a weak smile on his lips. “Yeah. I mean, _ja._ When I was in my twenties, I sort of… trained myself out of it. Hard to do some of the things I do sometimes, when my heritage was peaking through every time I opened my mouth. Now it’s just… habit, I guess. Unless I’m too much of a mess to speak clearly, of course.”

“Ah. That is... sensible.”

Eodwulf glanced away from Frumpkin, back towards Bren, who was sitting with his shoulders locked up, looking uncomfortable as anything.

“If… you want, I could… switch back to the accent when we’re--”

“ _Nein,_ that is not necessary.” Bren shook his head abruptly. “It was just… a surprise is all. I will have to learn to adjust.”

“You and me both.” Eodwulf shifted to better look at Bren, his joints groaning in protest, but his smile growing just a bit. “I mean... I’m not sure if I can get used to the idea of _you_ having a _beard_.”

“I could say the same to you.” Something tugged at the corner of Bren’s mouth. “You finally grew one.”

“Aha.” Eodwulf chuckled weakly, feeling his face self-consciously where scruff and stubble was starting to poke through. “It’s kind of embarrassing showcase really, considering how shabby I must look.”

Bren’s eyes fell down to his ratty clothes. “I do not believe I can throw stones on that subject.”

Eodwulf winced, glancing down again at the ragged, dirty coat and tattered scarf Bren was wearing for a moment, before he lifted his eyes back up to Bren’s face, his expression still downcast, half obscured by the beard he now wore. 

Thoughtlessly, he reached a hand out towards Bren’s face, but Bren jerked away as Eodwulf’s hand drifted too close, his eyes going wide for a moment before twisting in confusion. Eodwulf’s hand stopped short, sending a small fracture up to his chest, but he slapped something embarrassed over his face to hide it.

“Sorry,” Eodwulf winced, “I should have asked, ah... is it alright if I touched your beard?”

Bren’s brow furrowed, and he stared for a moment, before nodding slightly.

Eodwulf nodded back, extended his arm the rest of the way, the tips of his fingers just gently brushing against Bren’s new beard. It was thick, but unkempt, and even on a light touch, Eodwulf could tell it was quite brittle. Certainly not something Bren took care of.

“I always said that you could have grown a great beard,” Eodwulf muttered, letting his hand fall back to his side.“Is that… a permanent fixture?”

“More often than not,” Bren said, his shoulders unwinding bit by bit from when he jerked away. 

“And the rest? Because, no offense Bren, but you look…” Eodwulf grimaced, his eyes falling back down to Bren’s attire. “Rough. What have you been doing all this time?”

“Hiding. Running. Trying to--” Bren cut himself off, and shook his head. “Doing whatever it took to survive. For the past five years I have been keeping to alleyways; did anything I could to stay hidden. People do not look at beggars, especially looking as I do, smeared with dirt and shit. Between that and this,” Bren dug under his scarf with a finger and fished out a leather cord  to show off, “I have stayed hidden up until now.”

“The amulet…” Eodwulf’s hand drifted towards where he hid his own under his shirt. 

“Not that it did me much good in the end.” Bren sighed, and pushed the leather cord back down under his scarf. “Astrid recognized me almost instantly, despite not having seen me in… however long.”

“However…? Wait.” Eodwulf frowned.“You don’t… _know_ when the last time she visited was?” 

Bren’s eyes flicked to his for a half-moment, oddly wary, before he shook his head, pursing his lips tight. A shiver cut along Eodwuld’s spine as his eyes widened even in spite of the pulsing headache, as a fresh memory was yanked free of the alcoholic haze over when Bren had knocked on his door.

 _Es war fünf für mich_ , Bren had said, like a secret shame. Eodwulf could feel his stomach knot and freeze in place.

“Earlier, when you showed up, I said something about it having been sixteen years, and you said-- you for you it was _five._ And-- and just now, you said you were missing time!” Eodwulf tightened his grip on Brens hand as he forced himself to Face the other man properly. “Bren. You don’t remember?”

Bren met his eyes and let his stare linger, his shoulders slumping as a cocktail of shame, dread and fear poured out of him. It was answer enough. 

““How much do you not remember?” Eodwulf asked leaning in closer, halfway hoping he’d be pushed away and never get an answer, halfway consumed with the need to know _now_ . “ _What_ do you not remember?”

“I remember two weeks before escaping the asylum,” Bren muttered, his eyes falling back down to the space between them. “And everything after.” 

“That’s it?” Eodwulf felt strangely numb, cold from his heart to his fingertips. “That’s all you remember? You don’t remember anything from the asylum?”

Bren seemed to hesitate, and he looked away from Eodwulf, up slightly and at nothing in particular, drawing out a sigh.

“I remember the fire,” Bren said, his voice was hollow, and his eyes frighteningly distant.“The smoke, and flames, and screaming… and then clouds. Passing all around me and blurring together until it is all beyond distinction. And I don’t remember anything. Sometimes it feels as if I could remember something, and pick a memory from the clouds, but then they change, and I don’t know anymore. I don’t know.”

Bren stared at nothing, his eyes glassy and far away for a moment, familiar enough to send a stab of panic into Eodwulf’s chest; fear pulsing into his veins and his grip on Bren’s hand snapped tight like a beartrap.

“Bren?” Eodwulf asked, panic already pushing into his words.

Bren blinked, and his eyes focused, turning just slightly in Eodwulf’s direction, fully aware, and his hand twitching in Eodwulf’s hand. The frigid terror in Eodwulf’s chest quickly melted away with a sigh of relief, leaving only a muddy unease.

Bren cleared his throat and continued.

“The first thing I remember after that was a woman,” Bren muttered, though his voice sounded more present now, “Holding my hand and muttering a prayer; then the clouds were gone and I could see and remember again. I learned later that she was a fellow patient and of no right mind herself. Probably only healed me by mistake.”

Eodwulf shook his head, his mouth falling open into a slow, humorless half-laugh that escaped his mouth where no words would ever be able to fill that gap. Eodwulf silenced himself, biting down on his lower lip hard to suppress and fury and grief that he could feel beginning to come to a boil inside him. 

Eleven years. Gone. All of the visits for nothing. Eodwulf never had lofty expectations for what Bren might recall if he ever got better, but for it all have been for _nothing_? Even the consolation prize of knowing that Bren didn’t wonder and worry about him in the two years before his escape when he stopped visiting felt like a mouthful of dust. Eodwulf realized Bren was staring at him, waiting for a response.

“You must have been so lost,” Eodwulf grit out, shaking his head, and covering his mouth as his stomached turned again. “Waking up like that. With years gone by and no one to help you fill the gaps.”

“I was in shock. The first two days didn’t seem real to me. Like a waking dream.”

“And when did you learn the truth?”

Bren gave him a strange look. “You mean… about our parents?”

“Of course, what else?” 

Bren’s eyes darted from side to side for a second before his brow furrowed and he looked at Eodwulf. “Eodwulf, when the woman took the clouds away, when else?”

“What,” Eodwulf deadpanned, staring.

 “Why else would I be in such shock?” Bren’s confusion only seemed to deepen. “Finding out that it was all a lie, after it felt like I had just done it, and learning that time had passed without me. Why else would I murder the man Trent sent, and run away?”

“Wait, you mean-- you mean one after the other, right?” Eodwulf asked, blinking heavily, the headache that had been gradually moving into the background now surging back up to the forefront, and leaned in closer. “After she… ‘took the clouds away’. _Then_ she cast _Remove Curse_ on you?”

“What? No. Eodwulf, ” Bren made a frustrated noise and shook his head incredulously, “she only cast one spell. Why would it be otherwise?”

“Because-- because that doesn’t make any _sense_ , Bren.” Eodwulf huffed out a noise of disbelief and shook his head, his mind spinning so fast it felt hard to grasp thoughts. “That’s just-- there’s no way that’s possible.”

“I assure you it is,” Bren said, his tone clipped and his face hard.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, I do,” Eodwulf amended quickly, and then gestured to himself incredulously,. “But I-- I know _exactly_ what it’s like to have that done. I’m _living_ it. When _Remove Curse_ was cast on me I-- I lost it; I panicked, and made a scene, and I’m _still_ a fucking mess. I couldn’t get that night out of my head, like it was burned in, and before I came here I couldn’t stop my thoughts from racing about you and Astrid and our parents, and for me it’s---” 

Eodwulf’s voice broke and he squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced, choking back more exhausting tears rising in the back of his throat. He’d done enough falling apart for one conversation. He reopened his eyes, silently staring at Bren’s face for a moment, the other man’s teeth clenched, just like he always used to when he was feeling uncomfortable, before continuing, much softer.

“You _loved_ your parents, Bren. And they loved you too. There’s no way learning what Trent did to us would have made you _better_ , not when killing your parents is why you were there in the first place.” Eodwulf sighed, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. “I don’t understand how--”

He stopped short. A pair of memories came to the surface in his mind, connected by an insidious thread. One, a warning, from none other than Trent himself, when he had taught Eodwulf the _Modify Memory_ spell--about using it multiple times on the same person. Because _Remove Curse_ would remove all curses that have been placed on a person in one single cast. The other was older, of the fallout of their ‘graduation’, and how Trent had taken Bren away to see if he could be “cured. Eodwulf wasn’t able to see him for three agonizing days, before Trent returned and broke the news that all of his attempts free Bren from his stupor with magic had failed.

‘No loose ends’ was one of many mantras Trent had imparted well during their training, and continuously over the years Eodwulf had worked under him. ‘The good of the Empire is greater than the good of the citizen’ was yet another. But there was one more; delivered more as a warning than a rule to live by, that stuck with Eodwulf.

‘I have no use for a half-hearted _Vollstrecker_.’

“He did something else to you,” Eodwulf muttered, the realization setting in and quicking expanding into fury, like molten rock dropped in frigid water sending up plumes of steam, but his voice stayed calm. “That’s why you got better. There was _something else_ that got removed.”

“That is,” Bren paused, his voice low and furtive, “A possibility I have considered.”

“He didn’t try to make you better at all,” Eodwulf continued, his chest growing tight and hot, his voice adopting an edge of a snarl. “He made you _worse_ . To tie up loose ends or-- or to _punish_ you for not being able to handle killing your parents based on a lie _he_ fucking put in your head, and he _locked you away_ because that was more conveinent and easy, because Trent he-- that-- that _Fickfehler Hurensohn_ \--” Eodwulf grit his teeth to silence himself,as the tide of rage washed over him, and reminded him of what he would have to do.

“Ah, Eodwulf,” Bren started to say.

“He took you away!” Eodwulf snapped, cutting Bren off. “It wasn’t even just him trying to cover his own ass, he _took you_ _away_ from us!”

Bren’s mouth closed shut, and for a few long seconds, the room was filled with nothing but the ragged sound of Eodwulf breathing, like the steam building inside him was pouring from his mouth and clouding the room. Bren’s eyes drifted down to the space between them, and onto where their hands were still connected. He lifted them up demonstratively.

“I am here now,” Bren said quietly. “For whatever that is worth... We can work out the rest. With time.”

Eodwulf let out a few more ragged breaths of air, staring down at Bren and his connected hands, taking the time to rub his thumb over Bren’s knuckles, and he could feel the anger that had risen into his chest burn away like mist in the morning sun. Bren was right, he realized. At least he knew. At least they were together again. He had something-- someone’s hand to hold. Now wasn’t the time for anger-- he would have plenty of time for that, but not now. Eodwulf let out a heavy sigh.

“It’s worth everything,” he murmured, the anger bleeding out of him, leaving him feeling even more hungover and exhausted than before. He leaned over to Bren and gently plopped his head down on Bren’s shoulder and let his eyes slip shut. It was familiar. “Sorry. Still a bit… messed up, over everything. You know me. I always overreact.”

“That is alright,”

“It’s just…” Eodwulf grit his teeth together hard for a few long seconds before he spat out: “I cannot _begin_ to express how much I hate that man. Killing him is the minimum I will need.”

“... You were,” Bren said slowly, “Serious about that.”

“Of course. Especially now.” Eodwulf scoffed. “Did I say something about it earlier?”

“Yes,” Bren said, his tone odd. “Though, I thought it might have been the booze talking.”

“Maybe?” Eodwulf shrugged a shoulder limply. “I can’t say I really recall what I said. I Didn’t name names did I?”

“No,” Bren confirmed. “But, ah, Eodwulf… you are… sure? What you are proposing, it is…”

“I _am_ sure, Bren,” Eodwulf affirmed, lifting his head from Bren’s shoulder, his eyes hard. “After what he did to you? To _us_? Of course I want to kill him… I mean, don’t you?”

Bren gaped for just a moment before giving a single slow nod. “I would prefer him dead, yes.”

“Good,” Eodwulf sighed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he retreated out of Bren’s space to get a better look at him. “because I’m not gonna be able to do this alone.”

“Eodwulf… I am not sure what you think I am capable of,” Bren closed his mouth in an unheaven line, his face scrunching with new wrinkles, like he was tasting something bitter. “But from I have seen of you and Astrid, I am no longer the frontrunner in terms of arcane skill. And you are, by your own admission, a bit of a mess at the moment.”

“You counterspelled my spell quick as anything, and that’s after you got into a… scrap with Astrid,” Eodwulf pointed out. “And, yeah, I’m… not in any shape to be doing much of anything right now, but this will take… weeks, _months_ of planning, anyways and…” Eodwulf eyed the door before switching to Zemnian. “ _That’s not something I think we should talk about openly here. That innkeeper could hear us, and then we’ll have to get rid of him. Messy. Leaves a trail. We need someplace secure.”_

Bren nodded slowly, his eyes slightly wide. “What do you… suggest we do then? Do you have a plan?”

“Right now?” Eodwulf winced, finally untangling his hand from Bren's, to gently massage his temples and slipped his eyes shut. “Try to get some more water and food to try and soak up this hangover. Maybe rest my eyes for a little longer, because this whole talk has taken a lot out of me… What time is it anyway?”

“Uh, 2:31, but, ah, Eodwulf,” Bren grimaced, “do we have _time_ to be sitting here for that long? What with Astrid…”

“Astrid?” Eodwulf muttered. “What about Astrid?” 

“Seeing as she is not here, I assume she is searching for me as we speak.”

“Oh, Bren, no.” Eodwulf shook his head. “Astrid’s in Kamordah, waiting for me.”

“She _is_?” Bren asked, almost like he didn’t believe him.

“Yeeeeah.” Eodwulf huffed out a slow sigh, a heavy weight of cold iron hooked into his chest at the very thought. “She cast _Sending_ on me… yesterday, I think. Said she covered my ass with the job we were doing and she’d be waiting for me when I came back at where we’re staying at. She probably thinks I’m on a bender.” Eodwulf’s shoulders slumped.

There was a silence.

“Are you not on a bender?” Bren said slowly.

“I haven’t had a drink since I’ve woken up,” Eodwulf deadpanned. “It’s not a bender anymore.”

“That is a… Definition,” Bren admitted, and he felt the other man shift beside him, “But if Astrid is waiting for you in Kamordah… then I assume she does not yet know the truth.”

“No,” Eodwulf muttered, his hand falling in front of his mouth. “She doesn’t. I haven’t said anything.”

“Do you plan to?”

“I really don’t know. It’s... different for her than it is for me. She’s-- I wouldn’t even know where to begin with that and I-- _we--_ don't even know for sure if…” Eodwulf trailed off, shaking his head, trying hard not to think about what the collision of the life Astrid had built for herself and the truth might look like. Even trying trying to get her to consider was...

Bren studied Eodwulf’s expression for a few seconds, almost like he had another question, but instead just took a deep breath. 

“At any rate,” Bren looked away, his hands digging into his ratty coat, “The others will be relieved to know that we do not need to concern ourselves keeping lookout for Astrid then.”

“The others?” Eodwulf furrowed his brow. “What others?”

“... My… Traveling companions.” Bren explained, frowned, and amended: “Friends.”

“Your Friends,” Eodwulf echoed back. His eyes flickered to the piece of copper wire in Bren’s hands, and realized what it was for with a lurch. “You brought people here. People who are in this inn. Right now.”

“Yes…?” Bren nodded slowly, his eyes wary, like he was wasn’t sure what Eodwulf was getting at when the problem was _extremely_ self-evident. “They were with me when you answered the door.”

“Can’t say I recall,” Eodwulf said tightly, trying his best to recall the hazy memory to no avail, and quickly decided he had better uses for his tender head. “But, Bren, who did you-- wait, do you mean that… group from the other night? Those people? The ones with the _goblin_?”

“Yes,” Bren confirmed, his mouth trained into a thin, neutral line, and his shoulders stiff.

“Okay, so…” Eodwulf choked out a strangled half-laugh as his headache seemed to pound harder than ever.  “You brought… six people here, and one of them is a goblin.” He laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief. “How much do they even know?”

“Everything.”

Eodwulf stopped laughing.

His jaw fell slack as he gaped at Bren, whose implacable, neutral expression for a split second reminded him of the face he would wear during training with Trent. Set and determined, but not closed off. He was _serious?_

“Define ‘Everything’,” Eodwulf ordered, but kept his voice as calm and slow as he could. Bren palmed at the side of his neck with one hand and looked away.

“Our parents,” He said, his voice papery. “What we did to them. What Trent did to us and to our memories. Our training. A few bits and pieces about you and Astrid. Some of the things you are capable of.”

Eodwulf could feel a thousand little needles piercing along his spine and pulling his back up as Bren spoke. Unease coiled hard and tight and biting in his gut. These people-- these _strangers--_ in an instant had learned things about him in ways that people he had known for years wouldn’t, and never _would,_ know.

“You told them about our p-- _you told them we trained to be_ _Vollstrecker_?” Eodwulf hissed, drawing in close. “ _Willst du mich verarschen?_ ”

“Not with that term.”

“ _Bren_.”

“What did you expect me to do, Eodwulf?” Bren snapped, turning back to face him with his face twisted into knots of frustration and discomfort. “You and Astrid attacked them! They had questions.”

“You could have _lied_.”

“Eodwulf, these are my _friends_ ,” Bren insisted, his voice going low and tight and sure. “They have been good to me, and I had already deceived many of them for long enough. They were more than owed the truth.”

“And you couldn’t have waited? Did they _force_ you to talk?”

“Of course not!” Bren shook his head, like the very idea was somehow too ridiculous to consider. “I had told them almost everything before you had even shown up at camp, and then once we had decided to answer your summons I needed to _warn_ them about what you could do in case this was a trap.”

“A _trap?”_ Eodwulf’s eyes went wide, throbbing with pain as Brens words pushed into his chest like a fire poker. “Bren, I would have _never_ \--”

“I did not know that at the time, Eodwulf.” Bren cut him off firmly, and sighed, tired.

Eodwulf bit his tongue, exhaling hard through his nose until he was out of breath so he would let anything he might regret slip out. Calm down. Bren was right, partially, at least. Something like this _could_ have been a trap, and maybe even one he would set, against someone else, but he would do something that cruel to Bren. The way he had acted the other night when he tried to take Bren away was bound to spark questions, and apparently Astrid had revealed some of Bren’s secrets in whatever confrontation she had had with them before. _They_ had put him in a vice long before those other people could. Even if it felt like a blast of dry air on a still-raw wound, Bren wouldn’t just tell those people about them without a good reason. Bren might not even realize just how sensitive that information was.

Eodwulf looked back at Bren, still tense at his side. He realized now that at some point Bren’s lookalike familiar had returned to Bren’s side, and was eyeing him expectantly, almost defensively. Like it was ready to fight if need be.

Guilt bloomed in his chest like weeds.

“I’m not--” Eodwulf started, his voice still too tight, and cut himself off with a sigh. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more level.  “I’m not _angry_ at you Bren. You’re… right. Astrid and I backed you into a corner. But I don’t know these people, so them knowing that about me, it… it’s unsettling. Under normal circumstances, I would have to take matters into my own hands if people learned that about me.”

Bren said nothing, but Eodwulf noticed his jaw set. 

“Though these are not normal circumstances.” Eodwulf continued. “So I’m really not sure what to do about it if I’m honest. Can these people even be trusted?”

“Yes,” said Bren, unflinching.

Discomfort slithered in Eodwulf’s chest, like crawling vines on glass. “How can you be sure?”

Bren’s eyes dropped down to where his familiar sat next to him, and offered it a pet. He stayed silent for a few long moments. Eodwulf gave him time, his eyes trained on the floorboards, looking for any signs of commotion below him.

“In the months the seven of us have traveled together, every one of them has saved my life; some of them more than once,” Bren muttered, his eyes staying on the cat as he smoothed down it’s fur. “I like to think I have repaid that to them, a time or two, but the idea that it is merely tit-for-tat exchange, my back for theirs, is one that I can no longer hide behind. I have found myself placing my life in their hands more than I am entirely comfortable out of necessity, and not once have they let me down. In fact, I find myself… _surprised_ more often than not, at the lengths some of them will go for my sake. And now, even though I have told them the truth, and they what I have done, and the answer to the problem seems so clear-- they refuse to leave me behind.

“They are reckless, sometimes foolish, assholes, and maybe a little bit crazy too, but…” Bren’s hand came to a sudden stop, and he lifted his head, looking towards the door. “I am sure of them, _ja_. Experience has taught me that, in spite of… everything.”

Eodwulf said nothing. Bren words could only do so much to banish his unease. He could still feel that discomfort-- the uncertainty spreading in his chest, growing heavier by the moment. 

These people, regardless of what Bren said, still let him dress in rags. There were other ways to go about disguising oneself. Bren felt so _thin_ , his hands bonier than he remembered. While Bren was clearly lucid… surely in the past 5 years, he must have been desperate, starting with nothing to his name but an amulet and the clothes on his back. They could still have taken advantage of him, hungry and lonely but powerful and brilliant. Eodwulf couldn’t be sure. They held all the cards and he didn’t know the rules to their game. 

What’s more, they had gotten him into the mess on Astrid’s mission with-- A thought occurred to Eodwulf, like a pressing whisper to the back of his head.

Based on what Astrid had said about them, Eodwulf doubted any of the people Bren was traveling with were pro-Empire. The fact they would rather get into a scuffle with someone of Astrid’s caliber than be taken into assembly custody was proof enough of that, and anyone who picked a fight with Astrid Volkmaler was firmly in opposition to Trent Ikithon, like it or not.

A scuffle they had _survived_ , no less. Very few people could survive any amount of earnest combat with Astrid. That established a certain level of competence, and if they could take a hit from Astrid and not die on the spot, then they’d be, at worst, decent cannon-fodder.

On top of that, Bren trusted them with his life. That wasn’t… nothing. If they knew the truth about Bren, but still decided to stick with him, then there was _some_ loyalty to them. Eodwulf could make use of that.

“You told them everything?” Eodwulf confirmed. “About what he did to us?”

“Yes.”

“How did they feel about that?”

Bren scoffed. “Well, they were not _happy_ about it, clearly.”

“And Trent? How do they feel about him?”

“...Eodwulf, what are you getting at?” Bren asked, wary and slow.

“What we’re discussing is going to take a lot of time and effort,” Eodwulf said, as the pieces began to click into place in his head. The pounding headache, swirling nausea, and aching joints remained, but even though the haze, the thin outline of a plan began to take shape in his mind. He had always been good under pressure. “And even with us working together, it will be extremely difficult... Look, you know me, I don’t like them on principal, and I wouldn’t even suggest it if I didn’t think it was the best chance we had, but we could use all the help we can get. If they already know the truth and they’re still on your side like you say they are, then they seem like the natural place to look for help.”

And perhaps only. There were very, very few individuals in the Empire or out who would be willing to stand against Trent Ikithon. And many of those who would want to kill him would quickly become liabilities. Assassinating one of the most powerful men in the empire is not a common goal for those who Eodwulf would consider dependable. 

He didn’t think they were dependable, but Bren did, and that was not a recommendation that came lightly.

“I cannot speak for them.” Bren said quietly. “We have not had a chance to talk about what I have told them at length.”

Eodwulf hummed in agreement. That was reasonable. “Are any of them… Pro-Empire, or Anti-Empire?”

“ _Nein._ We are all… middle ground.”

Eodwulf suppressed a relieved sigh. He didn’t _want_ to believe that Bren had been taken in by dissidents in the first place, and beyond that, he wasn’t quite desperate enough to start recruiting them, either.

Even if it was for committing treason, he had standards.

“In that case, I’d like to talk to them,” Eodwulf said with a small smile. “Them knowing what they know about me isn’t _that_ much of a problem if our goals align. In fact, it seems like it might just be mutually beneficial-- not a problem at all.”

That, and if they planned out bold-faced treason with him, then they would have a reason to do what they’re supposed to and not fuck him and Bren over: Mutually assured destruction.

“What? _Now?_ ”

“Well…” Eodwulf grimaced. “After the aforementioned food and drink to shake off the worst of this, yes. I want to know who-- or what-- I’m dealing with here. Like I said, I don’t like them. I don’t like how much they know about me, and I don’t like that they’ve dragged you into such a fucking mess. But, if _you_ trust them, and they agree to help, and do it right…” Eodwulf grit his teeth. “then I’ll put that _aside_ , so all of us can work together to pay him back for what he did.”

Bren gaped at him. Eodwulf cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. Bren blinked, and his expression shifted to neutral. Weird. 

“I could… go speak to them,” Bren offered, “See what their initial thoughts are while I get you some food.”

“Sure. Just be careful, like I said, I’d rather not have to--” Eodwulf drew a line across his neck “--the innkeeper. Messy.”

“Okay.” Bren nodded quickly with a shaky sigh, and hefted himself up from the bed. His familiar, however, stayed in place on the bed, and Bren pointed at him. “Frumpkin will stay with you, he will alert me if you need me.”

“... Or I could cast _Message_ ,” Eodwulf pointed out dryly.

“Oh. That you could… I had not realized you had learned that one.” Bren opened his mouth as if he was going to say more, but decided against it, shaking his head minutely as it closed again, and he made his way to the door. Eodwulf snorted lightly through his nose as he watched him go, until Bren was merely a step away from the door and he realized something.

“Bren?” Eodwulf called out, and Bren stopped short, glancing back at him. “I just… Thank you. For coming. I… wasn’t sure if you would. Trap or no trap.”

Bren’s features seemed to soften, just a little, and he gave Eodwulf a single nod, before he pulled open the door.

Two figures stood in the doorway.

One of them was small, in a dark cloak with a hood up, covering half of their face, but a pair of  large yellow eyes gleamed through the shadow like torches in the dark, and the other half looked sickly pale. Eodwulf realized a second later she was wearing an assortment of bandages, trying to cover up oversized _green_ ears. The goblin. The other was a blue tiefling woman, with spiraling horns and splattered with darker blue freckles, wearing a pink and white dress and a green cloak. Both of them looked quite surprised, and like they were obviously eavesdropping.

There was a long, grinding silence.

“...Oh! Caleb!” The goblin spoke first, in a screechy voice that probably felt like a hatchet to the skull on a good day, her heard turning up to adress Bren. “What a coincidence, we _just_ got up here, and you _just_ opened the door. _Wow._ You have incredible foresight.”

“Yeah we were just like coming up here cause like,” the tiefling jumped in with a so-sweet-you-could-choke tone and a Nicodranian accent, “We figured that like, you were probably getting _hungry_ , and like Eodwulf was probably like, _really_ hungover and could _definitely_ use some food and water since he's probably like, _really_ dehydrated from vomiting all over the place.”

There was another painful, grinding silence, as the tiefling woman tried to put on her best smile and cover the lie that was born to fail. She offered him a wave he did not return. The goblin looked like she just wanted to run. Bren was staring at them, dumbfounded.

Eodwulf cleared his throat loudly.

“Your… _friends_ , I assume?” Eodwulf said brightly.

Bren said nothing, but slapped a hand to his face over his mouth and dragged it down slowly.

Oh, yes, Eodwulf decided, staring down at the pair in the doorway--he didn’t like these people at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Talk about a bad first impression. 
> 
> I have been planning out the crystal stuff since like fuckin MARCH man, you have no idea how hype I was when Caleb found that residuum crystal in episode 74. This chapter doesn't say it explicitly since Caleb doesn't know what they were, but they are residuum crystals. I got the idea based on the fact that Suude, which is Residuum based, grants one time use of metamagic. Also in case it wasn't clear, Bren had Enhanced Spell and Heightened spell metamagic from his implants. I wonder what Astrid's are...? You'll also notice that Eodwulf's forearms are exposed without any scars on them in previous chapter art; this is intentional-- his implants are located in more serrupticious locations.
> 
> I've been trying to sneak the conversation about what Caleb wants to be called now in since chapter 5. It's a wily one.

**Author's Note:**

> Hahaha oh fucking boy. Get Ready kids. We're doing this.


End file.
